The Lupercalian Redemption
by OmeganQueen
Summary: He was the Arch-traitor who broke the Imperium of Man and shattered the cosmos with the Horus Heresy. One Chaos acolyte sought to bring back the Warmaster in hopes of finishing what the Great War started. Instead, the fool brought a younger and Imperial-loyalist Horus back, and he's not too happy about the state of things. ( Rated M for obvious reasons )
1. Reborn

**So I've had this idea playing through DOW3 and thought to myself that the Emperor's favored son's not getting the love he deserves- I mean, sure, he threw the Imperium back into the dark ages with his rebellion.**

 **But what if he was given a chance to redeem himself? He brought down the Imperium, perhaps only he can bring it back up? Or at least, it starts from him.**

 **I nearly drove myself insane scouring the thousands of archives the internet has on W40K, so please forgive me if I leave out something or get it wrong. Feel free to point out the mistakes in the reviews.**

 **How long I'm going to keep this one up, I have no idea. Let's see how this goes…**

 **As always, I don't own Warhammer 40k, except for my OC's…**

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The swirling cauldron of black and purplish lights swelled and roiled without end, a trait that surely earned its name among the denizens of the material realm. The Warp was an unwelcoming collection of all the psychic energies of every living thing, an ocean constantly stirred with each thought, each action committed. At the center of it all lay the Ruinous Powers, the dominant gods of the Era. The Warp was their playground and so many were the toys in their reach…just waiting to be handled.

Nurgle, busy with perfecting his diseases. Khorne spent eternity brooding upon his skull throne, hand on sword as he watched the endlessly flowing river of blood traverse the fiery paths of his domain. Slaanesh lived her life to the fullest, drinking and laying with her slaves. And among the Four, Tzeentch the God of Change, took a greater interest in the affairs of the material realm more than the others. There is nothing more terrifying than a dark god whose attention is piqued.

Like a giddy child shaking the ant farm, he never tired of playing the elaborate game of deception, orchestrating from behind the scenes the wars fought in the reaches of the Imperium. His favorite was the Horus Heresy, and of course, the results that followed the terrible event. Never before had there been a large amount of souls daily sent to the Warp. Those were the days when the Ruinous Powers had truly gotten drunk on the influx, and like the drunkards they have become, they soon found themselves craving a stronger dose.

But this is where they shall remain...

With both the Imperium and the scattered remnants of the Chaos spacemarines leaderless, everything remained in static- devoid of any motion forward or back. The wait was torturous, but in truth, there was little Tzeentch and his infernal siblings could do to change it. Limited by the veil separating the Immaterium from its counterpart, the Gods of Chaos relied on their followers to enact their will, thereby providing an extension of their presence- but never for too long.

So setting eyes on Hel'Nkuza, an orbital chapel long lost to the powers of Chaos and renamed according to their masters' will, swallowed into the storm-filled embrace of the Warp, the Dark God of Change watched as a collective of cultists loyal to Chaos Undivided performed their daily rituals of blood sacrifices and other unholy sacraments. These were necessities, however, to achieve a higher and equally darker purpose within the walls of the corrupted temple.

The gene seed of the Great Betrayer, the Favored Son of the Emperor, was stored at the heart of Hel'Nkuza. The Arch-Acolyticon was confident in his skill at gene-forging, having learned the lost art through a recently unearthed relic of mankind's glorious past, and set to work once the hands of corruption had seeped into the very walls of the chapel. The countless years spent plotting in the time-voided realms of the Warp fed the Lord of Change, enough to earn his favor by allowing the Arch-Acolyticon to keep the secrets of the Golden Age and use it to purpose.

He, along with his fellow cultists and acolytes, worked to create the Primarch Horus Lupercal's perfect self, devoid of the Emperor's Light but born under the darkness of Chaos. All the other clones were complete and utter failures, all that the Arch-Acolyticon wished to forget and have this great triumph pave his way to attaining the gifts of the Warp. Sacrificing more and more slaves to fuel the monstrous engines powering the genetic matrix which held the mold of the Primarch himself, there was without a doubt this final attempt will be it.

Horus Lupercal would be reborn, and with him at the helm of the forces of Chaos Undivided, they shall usher in a new age and finally crush the Imperium!

The whole fortress monastery shook as the tainted machines did their work, the screams of the unfortunate slaves filled the air as their souls were consumed. A brilliant golden light momentarily blinded those who gazed upon the genetic matrix, then a searing green glow surrounded the mold, signifying the climax of all their efforts!

Stepping forward as his sycophants bowed and swayed and chanted their words into a nightmarish mantra, the Arch-Acolyticon gleefully cackled. "Immortalized by Nurgle's touch, bound by hate of the Blood God, tempered by Slaanesh' charm- be reborn anew by the will of Change! Horus Lupercal, step forth and claim what is yours!" Sparks flew from the overheated soul-machinations, and they spewed a torrent of pink fire as they strained to accomplish their task. All that stood witness feared the worst, for the culmination of their efforts may go all to waste should something go awry!

Finally, the matrix fractured, tearing itself open and freeing the completed form of the feared Primarch of the Luna Wolves!

The results were…not quite what they expected.

Dazed and confused, like a newborn babe, Horus stumbled into the cold and bloodied floor. He blinked as if in pain, then rose to his full ten-foot height. He was glorious, perhaps a little too glorious for a champion of the God of Change. He bore no scars, save for the necessary implants where his power-armor's wires are to be inserted, nor signs of the taint. He was captivatingly handsome, though, sure evidence that Slaanesh favored him better than Tzeentch?

Unsure of what to do, yet refusing to call this a mistake, the Arch-Acolyticon summoned one of his acolytes to fetch the weapon they had forged before the procedure was completed- something of a welcoming gift should they succeed in recreating Horus.

"Welcome back, Master Lupercal!" The Arch-Acolyticon cried out in mad joy, dramatically thrusting out his arms and bowing before the towering figure.

The hammer, a weapon that once belonged to a loyal soldier of the Imperium, was given unto the slowly-recovering Primarch, fresh blood glistening in the writhing light of the warp as it adorned its corrupted features.

"Death to the False Emperor!" A Chaos spacemarine bellowed, cheering with his brothers at the wings of the room from where they stood. A cacophany of screams, yells and cries broke through the chamber as the maddened servants of Chaos butchered the remaining slaves in celebration. Horus gazed down at the weapon in his hand, eyes squinting as faint memories started to resurface in his newborn mind. His mouth moved, words obscured by the din of the joyous acolytes and gunfire of the Chaos marines' weapons.

From all the noise, they did not hear him. But the Lord of Change did, and for the first time in a millennia, Tzeentch frowned.

For as the Primarch endured through the first minutes of his rebirth, the memories came rushing back to him like a massive tidal wave.

" _You are like a son and together we have all but conquered the galaxy."_

Words of love from his father, his Emperor. Images of the Great Crusades in which he was named Warmaster and tasked to complete. They were winning! The glorious future of mankind was in reach! And then, he was betrayed. The festered wound upon him by the corrupted battlebrother Temba on the world of Davin, the deceit of Chaplain Erebus for his treatment under the Warrior's Lodge. It was here, he first felt the touch of Chaos. It was as though his mind was removed from his body, a passenger in his own skull as he watched the Ruinous Powers take control of his words and actions!

Images of the Great War that broke the Imperium, the blood of thousands upon thousands of his battle-brethren on the brutal massacres on the Istvaans, the corruption of his fellow Primarchs- he saw them all!

And then…the War reached Holy Terra. Horus saw it all again…

The wail of a thousand innocents burning as his flagship bombarded the capital, the look of betrayal on Sanguinius' face as he confronted his brother in what became his final battle. The wolf had sunk its teeth upon the angel's back and broke his wings, never to fly again.

He saw the blood of his best friend and brother fresh upon his hands, the abject horror on his father's face as he beheld his son.

The Chaos Gods, united for the first time in a long millennia, filled him with great power as their combined presence kept their grip on his will. They spoke through his mouth, taunting the Emperor to meet the same end as his angel, yet Horus screamed in the background- begging his father to end it. He did as was asked, of course, but at great cost. Whether or not the Emperor heard him, justice had to be done, and Horus was blasted away from the material plane.

How he came back through this cloned body, be it through some twisted science or malevolent sorcery, one thing was certain…

It filled him with raw, undiluted rage.

Horus flexed his young arms and gripped the foul weapon in his hands, intent clear on his face as he beheld the legions of Chaos on that corrupted temple. He cared little for living through this blasphemous experience, he was unfit to live in the first place- a traitor to his own people.

Yet there may be some small redemption in his resurrection. He could continue his true purpose- and what better way to start than killing these heretics?

With that in mind, the Lupercal leaped from the platform and struck down the Arch-Acolyticon, sending brain matter and blood splattering in all directions. The maddened servants of Chaos were too busy in their celebrations to notice the enraged Primarch until he had already killed seventeen corrupted marines. Even then, it was too late.

Horus had seized one of the spacemarine's heavy bolter and had begun spewing bolt round after bolt round in rapid succession, tearing apart cultist and brick alike. He roared forth his challenge, bellowed litanies of vindication. These were warcries, not just out of loyalty for the Imperium, but born of vengeance for the untold billions who died in the War.

Years of experience were with him, but his body was still fresh from birth, it did not respond as quickly as his mind told it to, making it difficult for him to move about and fight properly. Yet Horus was not called Warmaster for nothing, he adapted quickly enough to survive the battle on the gene-forge chamber. They fight back, but none could stand against the powerful superhuman, especially not when he was at peak condition.

Once he dispatched the insufferable curs, Horus scanned the room for any means to cover himself, knowing that fighting a whole citadel full of the maddened servants of Chaos dressed in nothing but his own skin would be foolish.

The corrupted weapons in his hands grow hot as he senses the demons within them try to seep into his skin. Protected by a strange golden glow, he had enough opportunity to use them to defend himself and soon after drop them.

The Warmaster gazes about in confusion, wondering what to do next. He found himself pressed to do the unthinkable, pray to the Emperor. He knew his father was a powerful psyker, but would he even listen after everything he had done against mankind?

He had to try. There was a reason why he came back. With these thoughts, Horus decided it was worth a shot, knowing there was no other option.

"Father." He began, breathing heavily as though he bore the whole world of Terra on his shoulders. He might as well have, for the full weight of his sins was upon him, and no words could describe the guilt the Warmaster felt. "Father…forgive me…" Drenched in the blood of traitors, Horus fell to his knees and wept bitterly, fists grinding against his temples in grief. "I live again…yet I know I am unworthy of this life! Please…show me…show me why you have brought me back!"

* * *

On Terra, life goes on.

Imperial citizens walked the streets of the metropolitan cities, the laud hailers called for the pious to worhip. Pilgrims journeyed from all across the galaxy to kiss the holy steps leading to the gilded Imperial Palace. Inside, the Adeptus Custodes waged an endless day to day war of their own against the demonic incursions spawning from the frequent tears opening below the capital. Unbeknownst to the public, the valiant guardians stood watch over the tears the traitor Magnus had unleashed, forever vigilant lest the demons once again reach the surface and massacre the innocent subjects of the Imperium.

None had deviated from the normal routine, and the praetorian guards learned to be content with that. For if there was any change at all, it could mean worse than the usual demonic outbreak. Alas, today was a day for change. One of the custodes witnessed a bright light emanate through the crack of the massive golden doors securing the Emperor's throneroom. Fearing the worst, he sent a vox-message up the ranks to notify the authorities. One thing led to another, and the doors were opened.

The Throne shone with a brilliance so intense that all those who witness the glory of the Emperor's corpse staggered back, blinding permanently all those who did not look away. At that same moment, the churning waves of the Warp were becalmed for a brief moment- if there was any semblance of time at all- and every psyker within a million lightyears from Terra felt a blast of intense pain as a massive spike of psychic energy lanced through the Warp.

* * *

On Hel'Nkuza, Horus lifted up his tear-stained eyes and beheld his answer. An astral projection of his beloved father knelt beside him, hand upon his shoulder and wearing a comforting smile on his face. His very presence was enough to cleanse the chamber of all taint, removing corruption from both machine and stone as the demonic influence fled from the Emperor. Joy compelled the lost son to embrace his father, and he did so without a thought of hesitation.

No words needed to be spoken. Horus knew now what he was brought back for. The Emperor made him see what his dream had become. A bloated, rotting carcass of an empire driven not by reason and hope but by fear, hate and ignorance. He was to bring them back from the brink, and he would not do it alone. Guided by the Emperor from time to time, he would gather as many allies as he can, and he journey back to Terra and do what must be done.

The Emperor must return. To do that, he must die.

It won't be an easy task, many will shun the penitent Primarch, many will attempt to kill him in righteous zeal. Even the Chaos gods will intervene- personally if it suits them. But then again, nothing ever worth doing is easy for a Primarch.

The astral figure faded from sight, having done its part in renewing the Wolf's purpose. Horus looked upon the cleansed ground and saw a new suit of armor, fashioned according to his old regalia. But instead of the traditional black of the Serpent's Scales, this one had a bleached white to accompany the purest of gold. Horus eagerly donned the suit, feeling the satisfying click as the wires and tubes slip into his implanted sockets. He wears the armor proudly, comforted as though it was a second skin.

His father was kind enough to include a white wolf's skin for a cape. White- the color of forgiveness.

The Lupercal examined the helm that came with it and smiled as his boot tapped against the handle of his new weapon. He picked it up and looked it over.

It was a spear, yet like all the weapons granted unto the Primarchs, it was no ordinary spear. The blade was curved in one side in the shape of a fang, like a halberd but not quite so. The handle was composed of ceramite, blade of adamantine and cut as deeply as the metal promised. In his former life, Horus bore the Worldbreaker. With this mace, he shattered whole worlds as the name implied, and taught men and women to fear him. In this new life he was given, he was not meant to break- he was meant to lead.

This is why he was given a spear, for the symbol it bears was power in itself.

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 **Credits to BrotherCaptainShepard, who provided the idea. ( This Chapter has been rewritten for the sole purpose of smoothening the wrinkles I've missed )**


	2. A Way Out

**Wow, I had no idea this premise would be so well received! Honestly, my dear readers, I'm grateful for the positive feedback.**

 **Ok, so I've come up with the mold of which the story's gonna built on. The timeline's a bit messed up, but I can only tell it's somewhere in 999.M41, right before the events of Abaddon's 13th Black Crusade which would later lead on to Guilliman's return.** **Alright, with all that said, I hope you all enjoy the update. All hail the Golden Throne :)**

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Horus met the baleful glare of the Warp with steely resolve. The skies bled with bright crimson, the wind howled with the echoes of a thousand tormented souls. His enhanced eyes could see in the distance, meteors the size of small moons floating in the expanse, that could only be the remains of whole worlds swallowed up by the maw of the Warp.

All of time was meaningless here. Centuries may have passed since his former life, perhaps even a millennia. He did not know how much has changed, just a semblance of an idea from the brief exchange he had with the Emperor. But one thing stood out the most- the storms of the Warp had grown stronger.

The war never ended, not really.

In the years the Chaos Gods held him in their grip, they compelled him to see such malevolence as beauty. He never did, remaining steadfast even as a prisoner to their will.

Horus stood at the edge of the grounds of Hel'Nkuza and peered over the ledge in hopes of finding a path off the rock. Thankfully, the debris field provided a more than adequate medium of transportation as it swirled about in the unnatural vortex of the Warp. One casual push of his feet and the young Primarch leaped off the ledge, landing soundly onto the first rock. Gingerly testing his footing, Horus gradually gained the assurance to press on. One leap followed the other, and soon the Primarch found himself standing upon the remains of an Imperial city, utterly plucked from its foundations and floating in limbo- more or less intact.

Horus ignored the towering structures around him and made his way across the city to find a tear in the Warp or some gate that could lead to the material realm. Horus was wary of the malevolent entities roaming this psychic maelstrom. This was their home, and he was an unwelcome guest, it was highly unlikely they'd let him leave unscathed.

Suddenly, the Primarch stopped in mid-step, ear to the wind as he detected a change in the chorus of howls. They were silent, save for the faint hum of the stormy skies above him. A cacophany of screams in the distance caught his attention, and the Primarch broke into a sprint, jumping through open walls and over fallen structures away from the source of the sound.

He ran, not out of fear, but because he knew the battleground was too open. Had he stayed, the denizens of the Warp would overwhelm him. Horus was no fool, he needed to proceed wisely since he treaded on enemy territory- with nothing but the spear and the testament of his experience to back him.

The Emperor had strained to give him that moment of respite alone, Horus knew there won't be another any time soon. He had to see this through with the only way he was good for- outsmarting the enemy.

Once the Primarch entered the city square with good angles and a tight space, he realized this was where he could press for advantage. They would come through four corridors, narrowed down to six at a time, should they choose to engage. With that in mind, Horus planted his feet firmly in the ground and waited for the enemy to reveal itself.

They came in hordes, hundreds by the looks of it. A mix of traitor marines, daemons and mutated- whatever the hell they were- came rampaging through the city streets and spilling into the courtyard where he stood. Brandishing chain-axes, limbs twisted into spiked appendages and daemon-powered swords, only a handful actually carried bolters into the frey, which was another advantage for the Primarch. Casting their maddened gaze upon the clone, the forces of Chaos gave themselves over to the beckoning rage and attacked.

The Emperor was wise in giving his son a spear, offering him the reach required for moments like these. Horus effortlessly struck down the first wave, weaving in and out as they came at him from all sides. Blood spilled into the cracked cobblestones and all over Horus' armor, staining the white with blackened crimson. As the Primarch fought, he couldn't help but notice a golden aura surround his gauntlets and spear. Whenever he struck at a traitor or even touched a daemon with its blade, the merest nick would set them aflame, indicative of a psychic power greater than he'd ever witnessed or known.

" _ **You deny the darkness in your soul!"**_ The daemons screamed in unison, unfazed as Horus hacked through each and every one of them. " _ **You deny your power!"**_

"I embrace my power completely! The only thing I deny is your empty promises!" Horus retorted, angry that the Chaos gods would attempt to twist his mind once more. "Never again will I fall to your treacherous lies!" The spear was brought down, and Horus cleaved the largest of the mutants from side to side, lopping off its chest from its lower half. He moved on to the next, centuries of pent up rage in his heart bursting forth like the flames of a wildfire.

" _ **But did we really lie to you, Lupercal?"**_ They persisted. _**"We showed you the truth! We gave you the means to seize your fate and you spit on our faces!"**_

"Fate? You have no such power!" Horus bellowed, impaling his weapon into a traitor marine's chest and savagely wrenching it free. "Mankind seizes its own fate, without your aid, you damned parasites! Enough words! This exchange falls on deaf ears!"

The ground shuddered as the street heaved and cracked, heralding the coming of a greater daemon as the Chaos Gods called for a stronger servant to handle the situation. Mortal men would've pissed themselves hearing the otherworldy beast scream hot into their faces, but not Horus. He glared up at the daemon as it belched forth flames and hefted its heavy spiked club from the smoldering chasm it climbed out of. _**"Then you will die, alone and forever chained to the whims of a glorified corpse!"**_

"That's where you're wrong! He won't remain a corpse for long!" Horus returned hotly, leaping forward just as the massive club breaks the ground behind him. The harsh Cthonic accent did more than its fair share of intimidation as he grated the words through his vox-capacitor. "My father will return! And that's what you fear the most!"

The daemon screamed as Horus dragged the tip of his spear across its bare chest, opening a gaping wound that burned with the weapon's searing touch. Quickly, the Primarch tumbled over the ground below and drove his spear upwards, impaling the creature upon the groin. Howling and driven mad with the pain, the monster lost all sense and went on a rampage, wildly thrashing like a child throwing a tantrum.

Horus smiled under his helm in amusement and kept his distance, waiting for the right moment to leap back into the frey with his weapon held high.

The daemon's slow movements proved to be its downfall, and Horus seized the opportunity to strike the monster from existence. It was well known that once given over the Chaos or stemming from it directly, the souls of both man, xeno or daemon would be linked to the realms of the Ruinous Powers.

When killed, it is merely banished, never fully vanquished.

But as he soon found out from this battle, it was not the same. For when the daemon was struck down, its spirit did not return to the roiling oceans of the Warp as commanded. Instead, the golden aura from the Primarch's weapon spread over the corpse, eventually overwhelming the spirit as it plucked itself from its mortal vessel and burned it in one flash of bright red. There was nothing to for the Warp to reclaim- the daemon was dead.

Horus blinked twice and gazed down at the spear in his hands in wonder, marvelling at the power emanating from its blade. "Thank you, father." He whispered, truly grateful for the spear that aided him in battle. In all honesty, he would've prefered a heavy-handed weapon, but the power to incinerate daemons and burn away corruption more than made up for the lighter weapon he was gifted with.

How the Emperor came with this, he dared not question it. A boon, that's all it was, and he would leave it at that.

With the battle won, Horus pressed onwards, prioritizing his need to leave the Warp by any means necessary- though of course he'd prefer something technologically oriented. Time for the Primarch felt like hours as he traversed the city on foot, avoiding clusters of daemonkin and slumbering traitor marines as he did so.

He wasn't here for a purge, but one day soon that will change.

Gather allies, the Emperor told him. Once he returned to the material realm, Horus would waste no time in crossing the long borders of the Imperium, hoping that against all odds that he would find acceptance. It seemed foolish to think they would welcome him after all he had done, how far he had flung the Imperium with his civil war. But this was his dilemma to solve, and he had a semblance of an idea how to do just that.

He will need to earn their trust, as all leaders must.

Horus stood upon the edge of the fallen city and looked across the chasm that divided it from the other asteroids in the debris field. His helmet's photolenses shielded his eyes from the dazzling flashes of brilliance from the warped skies as he looked about once more, gaze fixating on the largest space-hulk he had ever seen. The city he stood upon now had obscured it from his sight when he was back on Hel'Nkuza, but now that he could see it…

Various starships, all Imperial by design, perhaps a whole fleet swallowed up altogether. It looked as if two gigantic hands molded and conjoined the ships together like clay, twisting about the metal constructs in odd fashion. He squinted, allowing the lenses to maximize his vision as far as it would allow. He could see a massive tear in the Warp around the space-hulk. It seemed that the hulk was in the middle of a trans-warp jump, but couldn't quite stabilize itself enough to complete it. And so it sat there, caught in a vortex that was constantly pulling it back in while realspace gravity on the outside pulled it out. Horus was amazed the thing hadn't torn itself apart by now.

Turning heel, he began walking in the opposite direction. That was when an idea struck the Primarch- he could use the Hulk as the means for his departure from the Warp!

Horus halted in his tracks and stared forward, unseeing as he contemplated on the thought. How was he supposed to achieve this? No army to back him, no crew to operate the thing, it is insanity to even entertain the venture…

Overhead, the space-hulk groaned as if in pain, and Horus watched as pieces of the massive wreck floated away to join the debris field below. He had to decide now, and it was pretty clear in his mind what he was to do.

The path of floating stones was accessible to the Primarch, and all he had to do was hop from one rock to another until the space-hulk was within reach. It could work, he just had to move quickly enough.

Resigning himself to this endeavor, Horus attached his spear onto his back and leaped off the ledge, grabbing onto the next rock as the edge crumbled under the weight of his armor. Swiftly, he hoisted himself back on solid ground and repeated the act, advancing gradually from boulder to boulder until he came to the long divide.

At least a kilometer lay between him and the space-hulk, and Horus knew this was his only chance- now or never, there was no going back. Surmounting all his doubts, the Primarch backed up and took a running jump, relying on the distorted gravity provided by the vortex to proppel him forward and above.

Lupercal muttered a Cthonian curse as he narrowly missed his destination, slamming painfully across the jagged and rusted surface of the Hulk which broke from his power armor's weight until his hands caught on to a random crack. His weight pulled him down, and for a moment there, the Primarch feared he would lose his grip! But thankfully, the ancient structure held true, and Horus scaled the wall until he gained entry through one of the many breaches in its hull.

Once inside, the Primarch found himself in total darkness. Thankfully, with his enhancements, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, aided furthermore by the lenses on his helmet. With that obstacle out of the way, Horus began the long journey to the center of operations in the space-hulk…if there is any of the sort at all.

* * *

 _Should any Sister, in her deeds or thoughts, sin, she should willingly and immediately make her fault known to her Superior, and amend with a pure heart. If she does not usually fail in this manner, let her be given but a week's penance, but if her sin is great, let her go apart from the company of her Sisters, so that she may not sit at table with them, nor kneel in prayer at their side. Let her go alone, submitting herself to the will of the almighty God-Emperor of Mankind. Let her don the hood of the penitent and take up the ceremonial Eviscerator, and seek her redemption upon the field of battle._

Such was one of the many rules that governed the life of each and every Sister of Battle.

Maunda yelped and bit her lip as the whip struck her across the shoulders, adding a bloody mark among the others made by the constant flagellation of her superior. The woman shook but refused to succumb to the pain, teeth upon lip until the flesh broke and she could taste the blood fresh upon her tongue. It helped distract her as she mentally recited the canticles of the Sisterhood, knuckles growing white as she grasped the holy pages of her booklet. The words she spoke tasted like ash in her mouth as she faced her fellow Sisters.

"I am far from absolution. Lost to any exculpation. I offer myself to repentance. Before the Emperor I have sinned. Beyond forgiveness. Beyond forbearance. Beyond mercy."

The repentant battle-sister's squad members took the Penitent's wargear and cast it aside. They used the remnants of robes to roughly clothe Silicia. The woman desperately threw a pleading glance their way, begging for some form of assurance. All she saw were blank stares, as if their souls were removed from them as they exiled their Sister upon command of the Confessor- who watched the event from the corner of the room with a strange hungry gleam in his eyes.

"I leave this company of my own free will and by my will shall I return. I shall seek the Emperor's forgiveness in the darkest places of the night."

The hand jerked her head back and Maunda felt hot tears cascade from her cheeks as her hair was roughly shorn with a knife.

The Sisters replied in unison, "When forgiveness is yours, we shall welcome you back. Until such time you are nameless to us."

"See me and do not see me. Know me and know fear, for I have no face today but this one. I stand before you a Sister Repentia, until absolution finds me once more."

The moments were a blur for the young woman as she was put in a cage with all the other sisters-repentia. Once locked, the cage was loaded on to the back of the rhino transport, which would carry the exiles to the front of the desert world of Inousa- an Imperial mining colony rich with relic finds that the Order suspected of corruption. And they were right to suspect it so. A foul shrine had been erected in a far village, summoning a wave of daemons that scattered all across the face of the desert and massacred the populace. An unnamed inquisitor had requested a contingent of the Order of the Bloody Rose to aid him in the investigation and containment of the planet.

Maunda's mind slowly digested the reality of her situation. All those years of rigorous training, fervent prayers and peerless devotion to the Emperor- all for naught. She looked around through the scarlet hood that wrapped her head hopelessly and saw the same look of despair in many of her fellow sisters-repentia. Others looked on with a cold stare, possibly the ones who chose this path out of self-flagellation over the smallest sin.

What had she done wrong?

Gradually, Maunda swallowed the bitter pill and accepted her fate. If the God-Emperor saw her transgression whereas she could not, who was she to defy him? Resigning herself to her duty as repentia, the penitent chose to honor both her Father and the Order- by purging the heretics wherever they may be. Today, Inousa would know fire and blood. And if the payment due was her life, so be it.

Mind rendered numb by the pain of her injuries, Maunda followed doggedly each and every command given to her by the Mistress of Repentance, not even feeling the bite of her neural whip as it struck her arms. The eviscerator in her hands roared to life as she faced the hordes of hell, meeting each charge with steely resolve that rivaled her fellow sisters as they boldly treaded the tainted soil. Each kill was a step closer to redeeming herself, and only the Emperor knew how much further she would have to go.

What was supposed to be a simple purge grew complicated as it progressed. The tiny force sent by the Order soon found itself waist-deep in daemons, all of which served to be their undoing.

By the time the Inquisitor and his retinue arrived at the shrine, only a fatally wounded Maunda was found barely standing on her own with a hundred heavily mutated corpses piled beneath her.

"I told them not to engage without me." Inquisitor Norn said through gritted teeth. He knelt beside the dying penitent and gazed into her tear-stained eyes.

"Our faith…holds us…" She whispered, life leaving her with a sigh. To the Sisters, Maunda was one of the lucky ones- finding redemption in death. To Norn, it was a waste of life and skill. More could have been done had the Order used wisdom over zeal and waited for his command.

Silicia, his ward and a Death Cult assassin, stood silently by his side, waiting for the Inquisitor's conclusion. Norn closed the sightless eyes of the repentia with his gloved hand gently and regarded the woman thoughtfully. Presently, three squads of adepta sororitas arrived, bearing flamers in each hand.

Norn only had to motion for Silicia and they stood aside to let the sisters complete their work. The flames danced over the corpses and heretical monuments. Norn presided over the brief interrogation of the surviving villagers and summarily executed all those he deemed corrupted- or more accurately, allowed Silicia to collect her daily tribute to the Emperor by the spilled blood of the condemned.

Once the business on Inouna was concluded, Norn headed back to his ship to send a status update to the Ordo Hereticus, the only gratitude he had for the day being that it was finished and that it wasn't a plague cult he had to deal with- otherwise he'd be all too happy to let the Sisters handle it for him.

He had been tasked by his superiors to keep close watch over the Sisters of the Bloody Rose lest their zeal cause them to stray from their true purpose. He would never admit it, but Norn hated handling the adepta sororitas, the reasons being too obvious for him to say out loud.

But alas, he had his duty to fulfill and he would do so without further questionings.

 **}!{**


	3. Untethered

**}!{**

Horus' footsteps echo through the hollow corridors of the space-hulk. Being the superhuman that he was, he could never tire just from walking, and yet the distance he traveled felt like he had walked full circle on the surface of a moon. And still he hadn't reached the command center.

Inwardly, he hoped the space-hulk would hold together long enough for him to gain access to the controls and stabilize the trans-warp engines so he can leave this hellish place.

The darkness lifts as he enters a junction in the halls, dim lights emanating from weak sources further inside. Horus remained cautious, but proceeded onwards, never one to let idleness hinder his decisions. He passes by a massive breach in the wall and looks down in surprise at what he found.

The remains of some great beast lay sprawled over the rent opening, overall humanoid in appearance but had two extra arms that sported three sharp talons on each conjoined finger. A xeno, without a doubt, but nothing like he's ever seen before. Just how far had the aliens come since his absence?

Faint echoes of bolter-fire reaches the Primarch's ears, and he nears the direction of the sounds to listen for its source. He estimates its exact location by the trail of bodies left in the halls and the steady patter of weapons discharge in the distance.

Red human blood could be seen smeared across the floor, and Horus came upon a fallen bolt-pistol. It bore the wings of the Aquila, and some words in High Gothic that he could distinguish as old proverbs of sorts- or a crude prayer to the Emperor.

Did the teachings of Lorgar twist Imperial society so much that they finally accepted his father as a deity? If so, things have truly become a downwards spiral- but Horus knew he had a fault in that. Sighing in sad resignation, the Primarch picks up the weapon and presses on, hoping those fighting the xenos on the space-hulk would give him a straight answer.

Horus' pace quickens as the bolter-fire diminishes to a loud clash of steel and a cacophany of growls and loud curses. He emerges into the engine-room, finding the remnants of a spacemarine battle squad with their backs pressed to the wall as a hundred or so of those xenos kept dropping from the cracks in the ceiling and floor. Amongst the bodies of his battle-brothers strewn around him, a lone spacemarine, bearing dark crimson regalia with the Blood Raven etched on his breastplate. Behind him was a more advanced version of the Thunderhawk warcraft, remaining stuck in the breach it made when it seemingly slammed face-first into the space-hulk's hull.

Horus hesitated in revealing himself, knowing full well that his betrayal had closed all doors for forgiveness with his people. The Imperium was not the Emperor, they neither possesed his infinite mercies nor his bountiful compassion. As soon as he shows his face, they will kill him.

And so the Primarch was left with this dillemma, a faint idea forming in his mind as to how to solve it.

Deception was necessary. He would introduce himself as a nameless warrior, discarding his name as the penitent man he was until his mission to carry mankind to a brighter future was done- then and only then will he reveal himself. Come what may, be it rejection or death, his path to redemption will be realized.

Consigning himself to this endeavor, Horus jumped down from the catwalks and joined his battle-brother against the xeno-incursion. The spacemarine beheld him with surprise as he cuts down the aliens with that burning spear from behind, slowing the raging torrent to a mere trickle.

He takes a moment to process this, but seized this opportunity, rallying to the Primarch and pressing the attack until the aliens were driven back into the shadows from where they came. Dark green corrosive blood adorns their armor and weapons upon the battle's conclusion, and the transhumans withdrew to lick their wounds.

Horus looked upon the spacemarines, both the dead and the lone survivor with pride, seeing them continue the war against the xeno as true heroes of the past have done. "Well fought."

The spacemarine approached the Primarch warily, hand on his sword as he regarded him with the utmost caution. "I thank you for your timely intervention, stranger. For that gratitude alone, I shall give you the chance to explain yourself. How have you come here, in the Warp of all places? Speak honestly, if you please."

Horus calmly replied, an alibi closest to the truth at the ready. "I understand your cause for suspicion, brother, but you have nothing to fear from me. I remained trapped in the Warp for what felt like years, no doubt longer in realspace, and I came upon the space-hulk in my daily wanderings." He held up his spear, "If you suspect me of corruption, you have only to look upon this holy weapon in my hands- see the purity in it and make your decision."

There was a long pause as the Blood Raven digests the Primarch's words, "You speak the truth, then. The Warp has a habit of swallowing up anything it comes in contact with. In this case, both you and I have fallen victim to its pull. I am Sgt. Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company."

"Well met, sergeant." He bowed his head, "I am nameless. I have forsaken both name and chapter when I failed the Emperor and the Imperium. Do not ask me who I was before, I shall not take up that mantle until I have finished my walk of penance."

"Ah, a brother-pilgrim?" Aggregius remarks in approval, "A good omen. The God-Emperor has blessed me twice this day. May our Father strengthen your resolve and guide you down the path of righteousness."

Horus helped the sergeant drag the Thunderhawk out of the wall and push it to steady ground. "Forgive me, Aggregius, but I am not up to date with the current events. Tell me, I pray, what has become of the Imperium in my absence?"

The Blood Raven shrugs, "I am uncertain as to how specific you want my answer to be for that question, brother. But alright, steel yourself, for I bear news of a grim nature."

Aggregius begins a long list of misfortunes that befell mankind. As suspected, Horus learned the hordes of Chaos have sunk their talons into the ranks of the Imperium, corrupting both neutral and loyalist to the Warp. Yet what disturbed the Primarch the most was hearing from the sergeant how the people have regressed to a superstitious and near-barbaric theo-military cult that ultimately worshipped the Emperor, ironically inspired by Lorgar's teachings.

Aggregius described the day to day massacres on the borderworlds, billions and billions of loyal guardsmen thrown to the meat grinder against Chaos, the bloodthirsty Orks, and the new xeno race of devourers called the Tyranids- much like the ones they faced today. It surprised Horus that the sergeant told him of these things in such a calm and resolute manner, as if these were just the tip of the iceberg!

When asked about the fate of the loyalist primarchs, his beloved brothers, the news devastated Horus.

Lion, Jaghatai, Leman and Rogal, Corvus and Roboute…missing at the time when the Imperium needed them most.

There were frequent purges of worlds, be it innocent or otherwise, by the Ecclesiarchy. Civil wars were commonplace amongst the split Imperial factions over the most petty of reasons, proof that the Imperium was shattered to its core-

It was enough to drive the Primarch to tears. And though his helm hid his face, Horus wept silently in front of the sergeant. "Aggregius…"

"Brother?"

"I grieve for the Imperium. But it would be unwise for us to tarry in the Warp any longer than we should." Horus glanced around, "Is the Thunderhawk operational?"

The sergeant shook his head, "No. Vox-communications are about the only systems left intact from the crash. What are you planning?"

"This space-hulk is not without its own means of interstellar travel. From what I saw outside, it has trans-warp capabilities- albeit unstable. I think…I think we can take command of the vessel and use it as our escape tool."

"Do you have technical experience, brother?" Aggregius inquired, "Or shall we beseech the machine-spirits to lead us in this endeavor?"

"Machine…what?" Horus began, "Oh…never mind. Yes, sergeant, I have technical experience. And I believe I can get us off this hellscape in one piece. But it would require traveling through the dark corridors and facing more of these…tyranids. Are you prepared to do that?"

Aggregius takes the clip out of his bolter to check the rounds remaining and slaps it back in, "I am. Figured I would face them anyway, might as well be now."

"Good. Stay at my back and stick close, I'm taking point." Both men knew the importance of that tactic. That way, the brunt of the xenos' attack would fall on the Primarch, giving the sergeant plenty opportunity to take their enemies down from a distance. With only the two of them facing the immeasureable hordes of the tyranid genestealers, it was only logical that they exploit every advantage that comes their way.

"Oh, and take that vox-communicator you spoke of with us. We may need it should we establish contact with the Imperium."

* * *

"Check your weapon, fix bayonets and prepare to charge!" Mercutio shouted, calling for his company to rally behind him as he stood under the cover of the trenches. The lieutenant peered above the cracked earthen wall at the enemy's position.

Shells struck the battleground in wild abandon, throwing clumps of dirt and entrails in all directions. The sight of the bodies piled in hills all around them was enough to unnerve most men. But these weren't the ordinary men and women of the Astra Militarium. These were the Cadian Whiteshields- youths trained from the age of six in the war-ridden worlds of the Cadian sector. Mentally and spiritually fortified, with a grim acceptance of things that would send lesser humans screaming in terror, the shocktroopers hold true to the tenet of offering their lives for the Imperium.

Training day was designed to whip them into shape, and by the Emperor's Golden Throne, Mercutio will do just that. Live rounds with live Ork marauders, the perfect test to temper their resolve.

Cadia would've been a beautiful second Terra, rich in wildlife and minerals that mirrored the holy capital world. But alas, in the 41st Millenium, there stands no opportunity to appreciate such luxuries. Sitting at the threshold of the Cadian Gate, right in front of the Eye of Terror, the fortress world was always the target of the horrors of the universe.

From Ork Waagh!s to the Black Crusades of the dreaded Despoiler, the populace was forced to transform into a warrior society as the situation demands.

The lieutenant's orders were clear. Press the attack and observe the men, tear out the weak and leave the strong to be sent up to join the veteran ranks that will be deployed on distant worlds. But the lieutenant knew each and every one of those under his command- he grew up and trained together with them. Not a drop of Cadian blood will be wasted. They were the best in the whole Imperial Guard, and Mercutio was confident that many of his comrades will see the end of this day.

In the distance, the Orks produced a cacophany of barbaric yells, grunts and obscenities in broken Gothic, a stark opposition to the united warcries of the Whiteshields 115th Battalion.

"All together now! Fire!" Mercutio bellowed, drawing his power-sword and thrusting it towards the advancing enemy. The second he did so, a thousand lasgun discharges pierces the Ork ranks with blinding speed and pin-point accuracy. Bodies pile up by the hundreds as the dead fall over, forming a flesh wall that the rest scrambled to climb over.

Faulty bolters fire aimlessly over the corpse mound, bullets felling the entrenched guardsmen only by the threes and not much else- and those brave cadians suffered minor wounds. Medics rushed in and dragged the injured and incapacitated out to the rear while the lieutenant ascended the ramp, sword high in the air. "Guardsmen, CHARGE!"

The Imperial Guard rallied to their commander, steel bayonets ready to eviscerate Ork flesh and defend their territory with savage fury. They roared in defiance at the green-skinned xenos, blasting them to pieces with their lasguns and shouldering the weight of the enemy's backlash, only to retaliate with a near-frenzy battle fervor. Throughout the battle, Mercutio's sharp eyes scanned the troops, watching and taking note of those who stood out- whether it was skill or lack thereof- the lieutenant took into account all the same.

"Push!" Sgt. Ekohr, a gnarled old veteran with most of his limbs consisting of bionic counterparts, strained against the Ork brutes. His chainsword draws great torrents of alien blood, covering him completely with its foul-smelling ichor. "Push, you lazy bastards!" He snarled at the young ones, "Do I have to do everything myself?!"

"Calm down old man!" Mercutio laughed, "How embarassing would it be that you die this day from a failed heart?"

"That's fine, I've got two of them!" Ekohr retorted, indicating the cardiac-engine sitting next to the organ in his chest. The Whiteshields leap from the mountain of corpses, advancing deep into the Ork Waagh! settlement.

How the greenskins managed to land on the fortress world and build upon the scrap laying within the forests, Mercutio hadn't the slightest idea. Be it the negligence of the defense force, or the ignorance of those up high, today was a good chance to rid Cadia of them. At least this time, his men would gain the experience they needed to know the Orks, and would use this to their advantage in future battles.

Crude machinations pepper the guardsmen pouring through the demolished gates with bolter rounds, weapons lashed together from salvaged battlegrounds that somehow functioned perfectly to the gretchins operating them. Seeing how the Ork defenses pinned and boxed in the advancing guardsmen, the lieutenant called for a vox-communicator to run to his side, and he grabs the reciever. "Fire Control! Initiate Earthshaker barrage on the following coordinates."

" _We read you, lieutenant, initiating Earthshaker barrage as requested."_ The woman on the other end replied, _"Be advised, keep your head down."_

"Loud and clear, control." Mercutio said, calling for his men to hit the dirt as fourteen massive rounds slam into the Ork positions. Each successive barrage lived up to the name of the artillery ordnance name, shattering the earth wherever they struck, reducing Ork and machine to ash and red mush.

A sharp ring remained in the lieutenant's ears as the barrage ceased. Once the dust settled, Mercutio peered over from cover to examine the remaining enemy forces. To his relief, the barrage had completely devastated the Ork Waagh, leaving him and the Whiteshields to clean up.

A fitting end. He had no intention of facing more of the beasts, since they had a nasty habit of accumulating like fungus on a tree. These Orks were disorganized compared to those he'd faced before, for if they were otherwise, the results of this battle would've been messy to say the least.

* * *

Horus tilted his head to the side as he stared at the holo-map emanating from the faulty emitter upon the wall. The image blinks a few times, fixing itself as the Primarch taps lightly on its surface.

"Anything, brother?" Aggregius inquired, putting another round through the massive tyranid hulk crawling through the bloodied floor.

"The Warp meshed the command centers together in one place." Horus observed, "But judging from the tyranid hordes we've encountered, I believe their nests stem from there as well."

"So…" The sergeant takes a moment to digest the Primarch's words, "We're walking into the maw of the beast that could mean our freedom? The irony of it…amuses me."

"Don't dwell on it for too long." Horus chuckled, "Come, we will face the aliens anyway, might as well do it on their home."

"What I would do to get a flamer right about now." Aggregius comments, falling in step with his comrade as they descended deeper into the space-hulk's depths. As they traversed the long and narrow hallways filled with flesh and mucosal linings, Horus couldn't help but notice the cracks on the walls start to grow. He halts in his footsteps and glances upwards, realizing that the strain realspace and the Warp was causing on the space-hulk had reached a point where it had proven too powerful to withstand.

"Sergeant, pick up the pace!" Horus says in alarm. Both transhumans witness the tear grow, until they could see the bright red and violet cosmic storms of the Warp outside. Their pace quickens until they break into a sprint.

As they passed the thick globs of gestation pods, the tyranids burst at their presence and pursued the fleeing duo, unaware of the bigger danger that was the sundering of the space-hulk.

The entire Imperial ship wreck breaks away from the collected debris, taking an entire section of the hulk with it! Horus, seeing an opening in the space-hulk in which he could leap onto, takes Aggregius by the arm and makes a desperate running-jump through empty space- relying heavily on the vortex's pull to bring them close.

His gamble pays off, and the transhumans land safely aboard the space-hulk.

Inside his armor, Aggregius' chest was heaving. "Damnation, that was close!" He helps his friend back to his feet, "A good thing you saw it in time."

"I had a feeling it would happen soon." Horus agreed, "Come, with a tremor like that, most of the tyranids would have been alerted to this place. The command center should be close now."

The two enter a large chamber that resembled an old variant of an Imperial chapel. Among burst gestation pods and flesh-webs, ancient computers and navigation equipment lined the walls and floor, suprisingly in better condition than Horus first envisioned. "What exactly where you doing that brought you and your men to the Warp?" He inquired of the sergeant.

Surprised the man would ask him now, Aggregius answers. "We were supposed to regroup with the rest of our company on a distant forge-world beset heavily by Ork pirate fleets. The stabilizers failed, somehow. I judged it as sabotage when we were swallowed up into the vortex. It is common these days to have a traitor in our ranks."

Although the sergeant meant nothing of it, Horus warily took note of the word 'traitor', imagining just how the sergeant would react should he know of his true identity. He turns to the navigation computers, coaxing them to activation. Blue light emanates from the computers as they respond to his call, some sparks flash from other stubborn machines. Busy with his ministrations, the Primarch would've fallen victim to the ambush had Aggregius' perceptions been dulled.

"Brother! Look out!"

Horus instinctively dove to the side, just in a nick of time as a torrent of bio-plasma washes across the chamber, melting the computer and floor where he stood seconds ago!

"Bile-beast!" Aggregius bellows, discharging his bolter at the massive hulking creature crouched atop the metal statue behind Horus. The Primarch returns to form and readies his spear.

The Carnifex leaps off its perch and lands with a loud crash, snarling angrily at the two transhumans trampling upon its territory. With an ear-splitting cry, it lunged for Horus, bone-talons ready to rip and tear at his throat.

Bolter-fire was not enough to penetrate its thick hide, as Horus soon found out. But fortunately, that was not the only weapon at their disposal. As effective as it was with daemon-flesh, the emperor's spear was sharp enough to pierce tyranid bone-hide, such as the case with this bile-beast.

Ignoring the bio-plasma eating at his armor, Horus met the tyranid's charge with his own, driving the spear through its chest with such strength that it buries itself past the first layer of bone and out protruding from its back! Grinning victoriously, Horus plants his foot against the fallen brute's chest and tears his weapon free, turning back to finish the space-hulk's reactivation of its stabilizer fields so they could be on their way.

"Well done, brother." Aggregius remarked, "An amazing weapon. Where did you find it?"

"The Emperor granted me this weapon." Horus replied honestly, tapping at the controls and bringing every essential system online.

Aggregius rolled his eyes and shrugged, skeptical about his friend's claims. "If you say so." In his defense, anyone can claim the Emperor's blessing. The Ecclesiarchy does it every time, though each relic in their possession is clearly of xeno origin.

Standing at the helm of the massive vessel they were in, Horus piloted the space-hulk out of limbo and forward into realspace. Aggregius watches him work with interest, careful not to let his thoughts wander into techno-heresy and mutters a prayer of forgiveness for his friend.

The operation of these machines were an act of necessity, but was a sin nonetheless.

As they emerged from the Warp, the vox communicator begins to crackle with life, drinking in all the channels emanating from nearby outposts. Aggregius selects the clearest comlink and addressed the voice on the other end.

"This is Sgt. Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company. To any Imperial vessels, I beseech your aid. My squad has been wiped out, and I am aboard a space-hulk with one ally. We are deep within a tyranid infested zone. Whether it be extraction or containment, I pray help would come soon."

 **}!{**


	4. The Tide Rises

**Sorry for the long update on this one, dear readers. I've been writing and re-writing the plot so it doesn't get ridiculous.**

 **Thank you for understanding, please enjoy :)**

 **}!{**

Terra.

The Heart of mankind, which beats weakly within an aged corpse of an Imperium. Aboard the Planet Killer,Ygethmor the Deciever, sorcerer lord of the Black Legion, peered through the thin veils of time and space as far as his powerful mind would allow. Secluded in his chambers far from the din of the rabble and the ever-burning gaze of the Warmaster, the servant of Tzeentch found twisted serenity in his visions.

How they scurry and skitter, the little vermin. Ygethmor watched with great disdain for the creatures kowtowing to the flayed and half-dead Emperor sitting upon the Golden Throne.

But…something was wrong.

Whereas in former days, the sorcerer lord was able to see into the gilded chamber with ease, he now found his eyes burning from the intense brilliance that emanated from the slumbed figure upon the glorified chair. No matter how hard he tried, Ygethmor always found himself retreating from the visions with an inexplicable fear gripping his warped heart!

It was then the whispers came. The sorcerer lord listened closely and allowed the Lord of Change to slither his divine finges into his mind, granting him a close connection with his will.

With a mixture of curiosity, alarm and anger at the revelation, Ygethmor watched from across the stars at the revenant born from the pits of Hel'Nkuza. He knew, the moment he laid all four eyes on him, Ygethmor knew it was the Wolf- the true Horus Lupercal! Though the sorcerer knew it was of utmost importance that he informed Lord Abaddon of this portent, mindful of the wrathful reaction he may spout, he remained affixed within the vision- intent on watching Horus' every move to see where it lead.

Meanwhile, within the bowels of the supporting ships encircling the massive constructs floating about in the Immaterium, the flesh-automatons worked tirelessly to bring together the systems of the _Will of Eternity_ Blackstone Fortress in their possession. Although remaining dormant with the lack of the proper influences, the daemonic servants of Chaos still managed to awaken the necessary aspects of the floating superweapon. Barely scratching the surface of its potential, but by no means attaining power of frightening proportions, the Black Legion gains assets for its upcoming campaign every passing day.

With his minions toiling to bring his thirteenth conquest ever closer to reality, the Despoiler awaited patiently for the climax atop his throne, hand grasping the bleached skull of the clone of Horus he had slain a lifetime ago. Some may call him sentimental for keeping the trophy, but Abaddon didn't care, he merely kept the skull to remind himself of his purpose lest his mind wander. As Warmaster, the fury that guided him in former days as today was a flame that must never be quenched. He served Chaos Undivided not for the gifts of the Warp as many of the sycophants coveted around him, but for his twisted dream of reshaping the backward Imperium into the bloodsoaked empire he longed for. There was simplicity in his goal, something that irked the Chaos gods, especially the Lord of Change- who favored convoluted plots- but not enough to to give them cause to withdraw their support for the Warmaster.

Twelve times he had hammered at the gates of the Imperium, and twelve times they shoved him back into the Warp. No more! The thirteenth time, he will be victorious!

There was a faint crunching sound at the palm of his hand, and Abaddon relaxed his grip, realizing he had formed another crack upon the skull's jaw. He set it upon the spire sticking out of his throne and turned his attention to the sorcerer lord as he entered through the open doors, announcing his arrival beforehand. The cthonic accent shows in its harsh, guttural nature upon the Warmaster's voice as he addresses the psyker. "You may speak, Deciever! And for your sake, speak plainly! I am in no mood for riddles!"

Ygethmor was grim in his reply, bracing himself for the eventual wrath of the Warmaster's reaction. "I bear news from Tzeentch himself, my liege. Alas, they are of ill nature."

Drach'nyen, the daemon sword leaning upon his thigh, whispered harshly in the Despoiler's mind, goading him to spill the sorcerer's blood. Abaddon silenced the weapon with a single thought and heard the words of Ygethmor.

* * *

The space-hulk makes a smooth glide forward, pulled on by the distant influence of the outlaying planets of the Cadian Gate. Without any proper propulsion systems following the rupture earlier, save for a few impulse drives, the two transhumans aboard the massive construct had no true control over the space-hulk's movements.

Aided by the somewhat faulty nav-computer for identification, Horus observed and wondered how a terrestrial world like Cadia, once a little settlement barely holding a hundred imperial citizens, practically turned into a fortress over the course of a thousand years. Aggregius, however, looked on in concern.

For the Blood Raven, arriving at the bloody sector of the Cadian system was an ill omen. Right on the doorway of Chaos, in the heart of everything. The seepage of evil was so great, the Inquisition had a hundred active cults to subdue every month! The place bred recidivists like a pond breeds scum. Being here was like thrusting them headlong into the eye of the storm. Although for a veteran such as himself, Aggregius was used to similar circumstances. But in this case, they were both ill-prepared for the warzone that was the Cadian Gate. An unwelcome surprise, so to speak.

Once again, the space-hulk lurches violently, a change in its pace felt all throughout its hollow corridors and in the command center itself. Horus knew the speed was picking up, and it was only a matter of time before the space-hulk finds a spot on the nearest planet and makes its mark. Without stabilizers, this hunk of metal wasn't slowing down.

"What is that?" The Primarch squinted through the cracks that showed the stars outside. Above another terrestrial world, similar to Cadia, a Warp rift had opened. From the tear came pouring eight massive battle-cruisers, all bearing the make of the Imperial fleet. "Odd. Why do they attack their own? Unless…"

"Heretics!" Aggregius snarled, "The sight makes my blood boil! We must join this battle and purge the filth from Imperial space!"

Horus chuckled, "And how do you propose we do that? Look around you, this space-hulk isn't exactly your average vessel. We're headed on a straight line from here, unless you're suggesting we force a change on its trajectory to somehow reach the fleet?"

The stare proved to be response enough.

"Then I'll need your help, brother." Horus said, "Take position and do everything I tell you, right down to the tiniest detail."

The space-hulk moves ever so slowly that it doesn't register immediately on the fleet's long range sensors. The crews operating the traitor vessels had other things on their minds, mainly the focus on destroying the remaining loyalist battleships. Their surprise assault had left the Imperial ships' backs broken, exposed to the wrath they bear upon their powerful lascannons.

At last free from the limitations of the Imperium, the captain unleashed the pent up rage he and his men have been saving up for years with savage thrill, screaming vehement obscenities and praising their new gods of blood and pain.

"Strike them! Strike them down!" Captain O'Knor bellowed, forcing the corrupted machinery to increase its efforts tenfold, his maddened gaze glaring through the bridge's observation deck. Twenty years he spent climbing up the ranks of the Imperial Navy, wasted as an automaton doing the bidding of the officials growing fat on their ivory towers while men considered lesser were sent to face the horrors of space. "No more! I will have last blood!"

The Chaos gods promised him vengeance, a gift that rivals that of the rotted corpse Emperor himself, and O'Knor accepted without any hesitation. At least, in serving the Ruinous Powers, he would be given the scraps of glory, which was more than he could say for the Imperium he gave half his life for.

The _Agony of Life_ grand cruiser blasted its way across the stars, leaving a trail of burning worlds in its wake. Though not the first of its kind to leave the fold of the Imperium, it was still a threat to be taken seriously. However, with the growing storms spawning at the Cadian Gate and the looming threat of an invasion from the Eye of Terror, O'Knor was left to continue his assault on the worlds adjacent to the Segmentum Obscurus.

It was a matter of time before the defense forces converged on his position, but until then, more worlds will burn under his wrath.

In the background, beyond the veil of the material realm, Tzeentch watched the theatre play yet another intriguing plot. With great interest, he witnessed the events unfold. Horus and Aggregius worked hard to bring the space-hulk back to functionality, with the Blood Raven casting aside his fears of angering the machine-spirits to aid his battle-brother for a higher cause- killing traitors.

It all paid off in the end, the space-hulk obliged their efforts and altered its course, heading straight for the gathered fleet orbiting the terrestrial world of Makai. One of the lesser colonies of the sector, the agri-world should have been spared of the attentions of the enemy, but the presence of an Imperial patrol sealed its fate. O'Knor laid waste to the loyalist fleet and everything around it, including Makai.

"Any way to make this rock go faster?" Aggregius inquired. "If they spot us, they'll just move out of the way, and we'll just slam facefirst into the planet below."

"Fret not, sergeant." Horus replied, walking off into the edge of the room where a huge tear was made from the Warp ripping the space-hulk in two. "Gravity will speed us on our way. See how they've recklessly grouped themselves together? They cannot move fast enough to avoid us without ramming themselves on each other. Get ready, for the hour of battle is upon us."

"I admire the ingenuity of your tactics." Aggregius remarked, checking his bolter out of habit. "I stand ready."

Meanwhile, aboard the _Agony of Life_ , the long-range sensors finally picked up the oncoming space-hulk. By the time it blared its warnings through the computers, it was already too late for the fleet to begin evasive manuevers. Horus and Aggregius braced themselves for the powerful impact that follows the headon collision, preparing for another leap that would send them to board the heretic cruiser. Their target was the flagship, O'Knor's vessel, taking it down would send the traitor fleet in disarray, giving the limping loyalist fleet a chance to lick their wounds and return to the fight.

On the derelict loyalist battleship, Captain Maranda had resigned herself to the inevitable defeat at the hands of her former comrade when a crewman notified her of the impeccable timing of the space-hulk's intervention. Confused, the captain lifted her gaze to the cracked observation deck and watched as the massive construct slammed into the _Agony of Life_ , splitting it down the middle and sending debris scattering all over Makai's atmosphere.

Seizing this opportunity, Maranda called for all operational ships at her disposal to begin a counterattack, driving the enemy fleet to withdraw to give them room for repairs. It would take a long time before the _Golgo's Respite_ is brought back from the brink, but at least she and her crew would live to fight future battles, thanks in no small part to the Emperor's grace.

"Captain, vox-transmission coming from an unknown frequency!" Maranda was notified, "Identity serial code has Blood Raven written all over it! Shall I establish a connection?"

 _Blood Ravens?_ The captain thought to herself, _The Emperor has blessed us twice today!_ "By the Golden Throne, put them through!"

The moment the space-hulk shattered the _Agony of Life_ , Horus and Aggregius had made their leap of faith. Compared to their time in the Warp, there was no vortex to aid their descent, only the perilous pull of gravity to bring them down. But Horus was resourceful even in the rush of the act.

With the scattered debris field around them, he made good use of them as stepping stones such as it was with Hel'Nkuza. Aggregius merely followed his example and they soon found themselves aboard the derelict cruiser. Once they were onboard, they were set upon by the response teams, guardsmen twisted by the Ruinous Powers and spearheading the unholy hordes that had spawned within the ship.

Aggregius noticed the vox-transmitter at his inventory pick up an Imperial channel, pausing to begin transmitting so they could establish contact with the Imperium. The voice on the other end came as great comfort to the spacemarine.

" _This is Captain Maranda of the Golgo's Respite, Defense Fleet designation Battlegroup Imperatis. Identify yourself."_

"I am Sergeant Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company. I came aboard the space-hulk with a fellow battle-brother, I trust you've seen our work take place?"

" _It is a welcome sight indeed, my lord. Although my ship is non-functional, the remnants of the defense fleet stand eager to retaliate, we are yours to command."_

Aggregius glances up at the Nameless astartes laying waste to the heretics rushing down the hall, "To tell the truth, I am not the one in command, captain. But I speak for him nonetheless. We are onboard the traitor flagship, so watch your fire, but you are free to engage as many of the surrounding vessels as you wish. Remain cautious, Aggregius out."

" _I hear you, sergeant, Maranda out."_

Horus heard the exchange and smiled, twirling his spear swiftly and parrying a lesser daemon's strike before driving it through its carapace armor. The daemon screams as holy light bursts from its chest, setting it ablaze and consigning it to oblivion. The corrupted guardsmen cowered in terror as the resulting blast blinded them.

This was another opportunity for Horus to get used to his new weapon, and he does not waste it. Gifted with creativity, Horus raised the spear and willed it to use, firing a bolt of light that pierced through flesh and armor alike. His eyes widened with wonder, then he repeated the attack, incinerating traitors and daemons wherever they could be found. But the more he used this, as he soon observed, the hotter the spear became in his hands- right up to the point that it began to seep into his gauntleted fingers.

Not wishing to damage the indisposable weapon his father gave him, Horus alternated from the blasts of light to utilizing its heated blade to sear through the guardsmen standing in his path.

As they moved up the corridors, mopping up the traitors with bolt and fire, Aggregius soon found himself devoid of ammunition. Not wishing to pick up any of the weapons discarded on the floor, fearing the taint, the sergeant fished out his sword and joined Nameless right in the face of the enemy.

* * *

Abaddon heard the portents of Ygethmor and his frown deepened. The skull of the recently slain clone made a loud snap as the Talon crushed it in its foul grip. The Lord of Change had seen the threads of fate and showed him the path tha must unfold in the near future.

He would wait no longer.

"The hour of conquest is upon us!" The Despoiler roared, standing tall from his throne and raising Drach'nyen. "The Lupercal has returned, yet another slave to the corpse-emperor! Yet this will not hinder the hand of Chaos! Once more, we shall visit my terrible wrath upon the Cadian Gate! The air shall burn and the ground shall melt, the sky-wound shall pour its malice forth. We shall return to finish the Warmonger's red work, to bring an end to Terra and usher in the Red Age!"

"For Chaos!" Abaddon heard the psychic screams of both daemon, traitor marine and cultist respond to his words.

The work upon the Eye was completed, the Blackstone fortress ready for its foul purpose. The Black Fleet of Abaddon moved for the 13th time, heading towards the gaping maw of the Eye of Terror and into realspace. The Gods of Chaos looked on with twisted pride at their pawns, licking their lips at the torrent of souls that would soon pour into the black realms of the Ruinous Powers. United the champions stood, blessed with the malevolent strengths of their patrons, marching as one at the beck and call of the Despoiler.

Psykers from a thousand lightyears could feel the impending doom, heard the thunder of the fleet's engines, and the roar of a billion traitors screaming for blood and fire. Even the Emperor, who sat upon his Golden Throne, feared for all those innocents that would undoubtedly be crushed in the war that will engulf the entire segmentum. It was inevitable, yes, but the pain it brings to his compassionate heart was keenly felt all the same.

The final hope, the fate of the Imperium, now rested upon his son's shoulders.

 **}!{**

 **4** **th** **chapter done, and I'm soooo excited! Please let me know what you think, and get those feedbacks on the way! All ideas are welcome, just PM me!**


	5. The Agripinaan Sector Part One

**Milord Cato Sicarius }bows respectfully{**

 **You favor your servant with your attention. Know that the Queen of Omega shall endeavor to meet your expectations and will indeed provide a story worthy of the archives of fanfictiondotnet.**

 **And should I fail to do so, I will gladly provide the bolt round you shall put through my head :P**

 **}!{**

The shadow of the Imperial vessel loomed over the desert world of Eriad VI, its form made traceable as it nearly eclipsed the planet's sun. The _Iron Revenant_ took pause as its crew regarded the surface with meticulous scrutiny, scanners sifting through its crust to locate any trace of the holy artefacts their order so passionately sought for.

Archmagos Belisarius Cawl stood at the helm of the expedition, giving command for the landing party to begin descent while he contemplated on recent events.

This world was empty, left barren after the close of the Despoiler's 4th Black Crusade. Formerly an Imperial naval station, Eriad had the potential for harboring valuable findings, but anyone would've turned a blind eye to it and searched elsewhere.

Unbeknownst to his underlings, however, Belisarius arrived on the barren world guided by the enigmatic eldar Shadowseer Sylandri Veilwalker. A secret meeting had given him enough information to determine the whereabouts of a powerful artifact hidden below the surface of the desert world. Lured by the promise of such a gift, Cawl uneasily heeded the xeno's words and embarked on the expedition, his fascination for all things technological overcoming his initial suspicions and hostility towards the eldar.

Although it was easy for him to follow these portents, the Archmagos remained cautious, knowing that by dealing with the xenos brought along misfortune as a price. It did not matter as much, for the Adeptus Mechanicus always comes prepared- and never alone. Confident with an army of battle-servitors, Skitarii and other war-machinations to back him, Cawl reached forth to claim his prize.

But as it turned out, he was not the only one drawn to the dead planet.

"WAAAAGGGHHH!"

The Archmagos' eyes flitted to the dunes of the east in annoyance. With a single thought the command was given unto the Skitarii, who disembarked from their transporters and dug in deep, ready to stand the green tide about to surge into their position.

A large drill was erected upon the dig site following the expedition's planetfall. As the mechanized warriors engaged the Orks pouring down from the hills and mountains, the construct was activated, sending a bright orange beam to bore upon Eriad VI's surface.

The nav-computers had mapped out the catacombs beneath the desert world, which initially came as a surprise to the expeditionary fleet. They never anticipated the discovery of what looked like a Necron tomb. Upon this revelation, the caution was doubled, but the search must go on.

"I will not waste this opportunity." The reverberating, mechanized voice of the Archmagos declared. "Keep digging." He turned his attention outwards, watching the struggle between his forces and the greenskins laying the assault.

The technology of the Adeptus Mechanicus, albeit crude compared to the xenos in the galaxy, proved too much for the Orks amassing at their gates. Bodies piled high alongside shattered vehicles, blood and sands mingling together once more as the Skitarius troopers sent wave after wave of galvanic rifle-fire against the green tide.

The corpses themselves became the sandbags, offering better protection against the raging storm as the shoota-boyz returned fire from the backs of their wartrukks. Rokkits sped across the dunes and struck the Skitarii positions, digging up clumps of dirt and scrap as they hit the ground with wild abandon.

Aiming was not the Orks' forte, and neither was subtlety. They bellowed every tactic their simple minds could think of, much to the Archmagos' amusement, as they sought to overcome the well-fortified position of the Machine Cult.

Charging in all at once was doomed to fail, and so was being 'sneaky-like'. These marauders weren't led by a formidable boss, so their assault on the expeditionary forces was little more than an annoyance. Soon, the Orks were put down. There was without a doubt there will be more in the following hours, so Cawl put the brief respite to good use.

* * *

The bridge echoes with the thunder of a giant's footfalls. The men, tainted by the touch of the Ruinous Powers, found themselves abandoned by their malevolent patrons and now cowered in fear for their judgement. Only O'Knor stood tall, defiance clearly written on his battle-scarred visage as he stared down the chamber, seemingly eager to meet his executioner.

The doors burst open with a loud crash, flinging scrap metal and reinforced locks all over the floor, heralding the arrival of the Nameless vanquisher. The captain bellows his command, "Fire!"

A thousand bolter shells were expended, a thousand bolts were hurled, but none scathed the awesome figure dressed in purest white. It was like the Emperor himself sent one of his angels to personally deal with him, a thought that caused a mad grin to force its way into the traitor captain's face.

"Blood for the Blood God!" He screamed, raising his powersword and rushing at the two astartes with the maddened horde at his heels. The guardsmen carried little more than bayonets or chainswords to the fray, which registered as a foolish act by all perspectives, taking into account that they were engaging astartes!

Horus did not consider it an honor to slay these traitors, he only felt disgust in their misplaced fervor. Such a trait could've been used in the name of mankind, such a waste indeed. These thoughts ran through the reborn primarch's mind as he cut down the last of the corrupted alongside the sergeant. His spear impaled the captain and burned his body away at the touch of its blade. O'Knor screamed a thousand curses as he died, falling silent as the flames reduced him to ash.

Horus pried his weapon away from the traitor's remains and wiped the heated blade clean from the ashes. His gaze scoured the whole room for any sign of hostility, resting easy once he found none.

Aggregius welcomed the conclusion of this purge, finding satisfaction in performing the duty on behalf of the Imperium. His thoughts turned to prioritizing the cleansing of his armor and weapon, both of which were stained with the blood of traitors and daemons. Soon, very soon, he will have that luxury. "Aggregius to _Golgo's Respite_ , do you read?"

" _We hear you, sergeant, loud and clear. Your armor's signal has been traced, are you truly aboard the Agony, my lord? Has the heretic O'Knor been vanquished?"_

"Yes, this traitor flagship has been purged successfully." Aggregius reported, "We're onboard the vessel's bridge, awaiting extraction."

There was a pause on the opposite end as Maranda arranged for a carrier to pick up the stranded lords, _"Give us a few minutes. I shall have a Valkyrie transporter sent to your position, over."_

In the background of these events, the Great Deciever watches with growing interest at the unfolding of these fates. While it is contradictory in most perspectives, Tzeentch's opinion on Horus' progressive path to redemption had shifted from annoyance to gradual approval. Chaos is utterly unpredictable, and so it is with the Master of Plots. With great amusement, Tzeentch twists his long fingers into the threads of time and space, reaching out to his followers scattered across the expanse, knowing each and every one of them were eager to carry out his commands.

Change was coming, and so he welcomes it with open arms.

There was a certain calm feeling in Horus' mind as he beheld the faces of his fellow humans. While altered to be superior in every way by the Emperor himself, Horus never considered himself above the common people, having been brought from humble origins himself. The calmness was replaced by an intense feeling of vigilance, a desire to protect these people, such as the nature of a sentinel of mankind brings.

On the damaged ship _Golgo's Respite_ , however, the crew and the guardsmen halted in their duties for a moment to gaze in awe at the towering figure dressed in unblemished white.

Unbeknownst to anyone, even Horus, the Emperor had shielded him with a psychic aura so great that it masked his identity to prevent any suspecting eye from recognizing him outright. This same aura projected a cleansing brilliance that seemed to burn away anything that touched his armor, even blood or viscera taken in combat. The end result was always a renewed and cleansed form, free from the stain of battle. This did not keep anyone from noting the imposing figure that Horus was, and the lesser men and women of the crew bent the knee in his presence.

"Stand!" Horus declared immediately, knowing he hardly deserved any form of exaltation. "I am a servant of the Imperium, same as any of you!" Aggregius follows his friend's lead, "You kneel only before the God-Emperor, and none other!"

The crew exchanged glances and rose to follow their lieges' commands. Although standing upright, that didn't stop them from saluting the two transhumans.

Captain Maranda wasted no time getting the formalities out of the way, receiving disturbing news of more Chaos incursions sprouting from different sources all over the sector. To her, the arrival of the two was an invaluable boon in her mission to protect the Imperium, but came as a small comfort in comparison to the daunting task of facing the heretics spawning from the warp rifts opening all across the Obscurus.

Horus gauged the woman with great care, avoiding being judgemental of the captain because of her looks.

Maranda was quite young for a woman of her station, bearing the years of at least the latter of twenties. Her hair was stark silver, mirroring the Aquila icon she bore on her uniform. Her eyes were bright green, yet bore the stern testament of experience and her harrowing years as a leader. Her face hardly had any wrinkles on it just yet, but betrayed the exhaustion that only battle can bring.

Yet even as she stood unsteadily with a hand to prop herself up from her chair, Horus found admiration in the woman's composure."I am Captain Maranda Goodwill of the Battlegroup Imperatis, how should I greet you, milords?"

Aggregius spoke first, "I am Sgt. Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company. We spoke on the vox-channel a few hours ago, captain." He turned to Horus and took pause before making the introductions, "This…this is my companion, Nameless. It may sound strange to most of you, but my friend is on a quest for redemption. Until he has atoned for his sins, he shall remain as such…nameless."

"Welcome aboard the _Golgo's Respite_." She greeted her lieges, "I would drone on with the pleasantries, but I have my duty to the Imperium to perform. The sector is under attack by the forces of Chaos. Spacial distortions render long-range communications inaccessible. As dictated by Cypra Mundi, I am to give command to the highest ranking commissioned officer present." She turned to Horus, "I believe that would be you, milord?"

"Yes?" Horus replied, reluctant to take command.

Captain Maranda bowed, "I and all vessels at my disposal are at your service."

Inwardly, the Lupercal was grateful this commander was not the suspicious kind, otherwise he would encounter greater resistance. He seized this opportunity to win their trust, and so he took upon himself the honor of leadership once more. "Thank you, Captain Maranda. You have done well leading this fleet even in the face of defeat, a credit to the Imperium of Man."

Maranda's lips cracked into a smile, "Thank you, milord. What are you commands?"

Horus walked into the observation deck and peered into the glass, watching the tiny purple rift in space that could only be the Eye of Terror. Any lesser man would have gone mad staring as long as he did, but not Horus. He had seen madness face to face and did not blink. His purpose became ever clearer as he thought of all those worlds out in the Obscurus under siege by the dark powers.

"Is the _Golgo's Respite_ ready for action, captain?" He inquired.

"With the disruption of the Warp, any travel has been rendered impossible save for sub-light." Maranda reported, "But aside from that, yes milord, she is ready to get back out there."

"Then take us on our way, captain." Horus instructed, "To the nearest Imperial outpost, if you will. With luck, perhaps we can regroup with the rest of the defense fleets against this incursion."

"Excellent strategy, sir." Maranda remarked, relaying the command to the remnants of the fleet. That way, they could better coordinate a counter-assault to repulse the scum threatening the Imperium.

Breaking free from its respite, the Battlegroup Imperatis makes a steady headway for Cadia Prime. Signal fragments were picked up along the way, indicating a massive assault on Imperial controlled worlds in the sector. Horus realized O'Knor's traitor fleet wasn't the only one plaguing Obscurus, and his heart felt heavy with purpose as he imagined how things would've turned out if he remained in the Warp.

The shadow of war loomed over the heart of the Imperium, mankind weakened considerably as its heroes were torn from its grasp. The Emperor looked and saw the lack in its sentinels, another reason for bringing his son back from the other side.

The Lupercal grew ever more eager to carry out his task, though he did not show it as much as the burning passion in Aggregius' heart.

As the _Golgo's Respite_ entered the battlezone, their eyes beheld a mere glimpse of the horrors of the Eye. Agripinaa, a forge-world vital to the sector, was under attack by the forces of Chaos. In reference to O'Knor's assault, however, this was larger by comparison.

Ships of all shapes and sizes dotted the Agripinaan airspace, imperial and traitor battlecruisers exchanging lasfire and bursts of white-hot plasma as they circled one another. Imperial armor was just as strong as its traitor counterpart, so the fight largely centered on battering each other to submission.

There was a collective of Chaos vessels in the distance, however, heavily damaged and seemed to limp away from the fighting to repair themselves. Maranda's fleet wouldn't do so well in an open battle, so Horus instructed her to remain subtle but make use of the opportunity.

"See those voidships behind the battlelines?" Horus indicated, "I'd wager they act as support for the enemy fleet. If so, they are vital to their assault on this system. Are vox-channels open for hailing yet?"

"No, milord!" The comms-officer reported, "Something's jamming our communications!"

Horus knew what it was even before hearing the crew's observation, "Psychic distortion." He looked towards the limping voidships and spied a large construct nestled safely within the protective formation. It was an amalgamation of flesh and metal, one that used to be a ship yet was reformed in chaotic likeness of the Warp. Strange bright red lights emanated from its core, this same aura he had witnessed pulling apart space-hulks back on his journey through Hel'Nkuza. "That thing is responsible for your jamming dilemma, crewman. It is likely the source of the traitor fleet's repair capabilities. Destroying it will not only shatter the enemy's resolve, but it will give way for vox-transmissions."

"Milord, your commands?"

"Prioritize that construct's demise." He replied, "If I have to board that thing and dismantle it from the inside, so be it. But it must be destroyed if this system is to be saved."

"Yes milord." The captain declared, "All hands to your stations, prepare for battle!"

* * *

Within the mists of the immaterial universe, the Emperor watched his son come to the aid of the noble men and women of the Agripinaan Sector. Confined to the Golden Throne, he could do little more than provide hints that manifested as thoughts within the mind of Horus. There was always that psychic link between the two that stemmed from the unbreakable bond between father and son. All others have seen the physical manifestation of the bond, such as his show of favor over the young Wolf of Cthonia. But deep down, this was the bond that prevailed in the Seige of Terra, one that allowed Horus to break free for just one moment from the control of the Chaos Gods aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_.

Horus was no perpetual like some of his sons, but the bond was unique in its own way, taking form by the will of the Emperor alone. Unbeknownst to Horus, this was how the Emperor brought him back from the murky depths of the Warp and into the material universe to fight by his side once more.

Through this bond, Horus will never find himself far from his father again. The Emperor was just a whisper away from providing aid.

Satisfied in seeing his son hard at work, the Emperor turned his attention to his loyal servants scattered across the Segmentum Obscurus, particularly the one entity trapped in the limbo between the materium and immaterium- Celestine.

The paragon of purity had been dealt a serious blow following the Promethean War, struck down by the Daemon Prince Gralastyx even as she plunged her Ardent Blade into his black heart.

Wounded but remaining in suspended animation in the vortex alongside the stiff corpse of the Daemon Prince, Celestine waited for untold centuries to be called to purpose once more. Today was that day, for the Emperor had amassed all the psychic energies at his disposal to drag the Saint back from the limbo and into realspace.

As it was with his visit to Hel'Nkuza, the disturbance of his departure caused billions of psykers- be it transhuman or mortal- to feel a pain so great that it ruptured their minds completely. Spacemarines were left dazed and bleeding while all others were rendered maddened or dead.

Such was the price of his interventions, a weight set heavily upon his heart, but means justified in the end.

His astral form shone brightly in the darkness of the void, casting its brilliance over the broken form of his warrior angel as she floated beside the traitor she brought down with her. The Emperor smiled upon the Saint and touched the gash in her armour from which a stream of bright red blood stemmed from. A flash followed, and the wound closed, armour mending itself as life returned to Celestine. Her hair shone just as bright as the Emperor's light, and her eyes opened to behold her god. The Saint was overjoyed at this meeting, the cry of her rebirth was so great that it brought with it a wave of inspiration whose ripples drove the warriors of the Imperium to fight harder- though many of them remained aloof to the origin of this inspiration.

Their combined pure psychic energies drove away the darkness of the void and burned away Gralastyx's faded corpse, finally wiping clean all traces of the hated foe.

Humbled by the presence of the God-Emperor, Celestine bowed low and prostrated herself. Her voice was as sweet as the sparrow's song, "My Emperor…My god…what would you have me do?" The Emperor did not speak, only touched the temple of the Saint's head. His thoughts were transferred to her, and he revealed his plan to save the Imperium. Celestine gripped the handle of the Ardent Blade and set her gaze outwards, mind aligned with the Emperor's Will.

Abaddon approaches from the Warp, his shadow upon Cadia with arm raised to shatter its gates. All the pieces were in place. With the war between the Ruinous Powers and the Emperor of Mankind reaching its peak, blood and fire will surely spill over the galaxy.

But to Celestine, it wasn't Man's blood that will be spilled upon the altar- it will be the Despoiler's.

And if this Horus Lupercal truly desires to redeem himself, even if duty-bound to obey the Emperor, the Saint will gauge his worth in the coming apocalypse. He drove the Imperium this low with his rebellion, such a sin would not be so easily forgiven. "My god, forgive me. But I must test him."

 **}!{**

 **Crom'Torak**

 **How dare you daemon-spawn of Slaanesh taint the sanctuary of Fanfictiondotnet with your presence!?**

 **On side note, yeah the Black Legion ( or Luna Wolves ) can have an arch where they'll join up as the newly formed Wolves of Terra. Still working on that idea, PM me if you wish-**

 **Er...I mean- Begone Daemon!**

 **XD**


	6. The Agripinaan Sector Part Two

**}!{**

The support voidship pulsated with foul energies as it worked to repair the damages wrought upon its siblings. Tears were mended by the raw psychic energies of the tiny Warp storms that danced within metaconstruct pylons, ammunition and other resources such as slaves and blood sacrifices were distributed accordingly. Echoes of the screams of sacrificed souls emanated from the bloodied altars on the bridge as the cultists herded in more and more slaves to fuel the hungry rifts.

The worlds of the Imperium lay within reach, with only a handful of loyalist ships in their way, it all seemed too easy. But the heretics lacked a key resource in their assault upon the Agripinaan sector- good strategists. Without a leader to give voice upon the simplest of tactics, the assault fleet was little more than a pack of rabid wolves, descending upon fresh meat without a thought to the consequences of such a brash action.

They did not see the Valkyrie transporters hurled in their direction, shrugging it off as a futile attempt of the weak Imperial forces. They did not see the grim warrior clad in pure white as he smashed through their hull and breached their defenses. So absorbed were they in the intoxicating scent of death and hypnotic siren-calls of the Ruinous Powers, they neglected to heed the warnings of the alarm klaxons until it was too late.

The alarm blares overhead as the Valkyrie hatch opens, with the Nameless Hero leaning outward to deal the Chaos Construct a heavy blow.

"Alright, let's see just how powerful you are." Horus whispered to his weapon, stretching forth his arm to deliver a blast of light that lances through realspace. He had not accounted for the effects of the lightspear in the void, but the results were nothing short of devastating.

To the guardsmen operating the craft, they saw their liege hold the power of the Emperor in his hands, delivering holy judgement upon the enemies of the Imperium. To Horus, it meant nothing more than raw psychic energies contained within an adamantine shell. His father was a master craftsman, with this weapon yet another testament to that trait. Beneath his helm, Horus was smiling.

The support vessel could not withstand the power surge the light had brought with it, and it began to writhe and shatter from within. The traitor tech-priests did what they could to reroute auxillary capacitors to stem the current, but in the end it was too late. Horus hurled another bolt of light to ensure the voidship's destruction, then repeated the act until the support ship bursts in a ball of fire and debris. Quick in its demise, the vacuum of space snuffs out the flames, gravity scatters the remains in all directions, which led to them pattering like a hailstorm onto the surrounding ships- be it traitor or loyalist.

Without the support ship to back them, as was predicted by Horus, the voidships had no sure foothold on the Agripinaan sector. This was made even worse for them now that the Imperial fleets were back in force.

Battlegroup Imperatis regained vox-communication capability, and Captain Maranda wasted no time requesting for reinforcements. With the spacial distortions down and the warp inhibitions disrupted, the Imperial reinforcements soon picked up on the _Golgo's Respite's_ astropathic messages and acted accordingly. Though warp-travel was rendered perilious due to the Eye's growing instability, the reinforcements were able to just slip through the narrow tear in realspace to assist their comrades in the defense of Agripinaa. This caused a heavy toll on the psykers aboard their ships, most paid with their lives as their brains were liquified within their heads, but the result was well worth the cost.

Agripinaa, the industrial heart of the Cadian Gate, would not stand alone.

This was a welcome surprise for Battlegroup Imperatis, and the combined fleets converged on the traitors until they run them down. Angered by the brazen assault on their worlds, the defense forces relentlessly hammered upon the battered enemy fleet like a smith would upon an anvil until the only thing left for them to do was to secure the worlds below as they were beset by the traitor legions who were able to make planetfall.

Horus Lupercal stormed the world below alongside Aggregius and two reserve regiments of faithful guardsmen. It was no secret that the sergeant disapproved of the use of lesser men in a campaign against the forces of Chaos, knowing they of all people are more susceptible to the taint than any human. Their faith was weak, though their valor could be spoken of as commendable.

He spoke no more of this when the Nameless Hero chided him for his lack of confidence. "They are warriors of the Imperium same as us. They may be made of flesh and cloth, unlike us who are wrought of iron, but they serve a higher purpose. Instead, praise them for their courage, brother."

"If you say so." Aggregius replied with a hint of reluctance in his voice.

The Valkyrie makes its drop on the battlefields of Agripinaa Prime, where towering spires and refineries once lined its face. The industrial world did not weather the assault well, though it weathered the terraformation worse to begin with. Through the clouds of toxic gases and industrial wastes, the landing party pierces the black veils covering the skies of Agripinaa. Horus' keen eyes, enhanced by the visor of his helm, scanned the broken landscape of the forge-capital.

He had seen whole worlds burn in the fires of battle, and this one was no different. Streaks of bolter-discharge and smoky trails of launched warheads filled the air below while bodies torn apart in the resulting clash of steel lay strewn all over the bloodstained streets.

Maranda's voice crackles over the vox-channel as she reports her findings to the Nameless Hero. _"My lord, I've received reports from the surface. If I'm not mistaken, those loyalist ground troops appear to register as Blood Angels. Four companies have responded to the call for Agripinaa's defense, but it seems to be a losing battle!"_

"Blood Angels?" Horus breathed, a vision of his long dead brother and friend flashed before his eyes as he heard the chapter's name. Even after his death, Sanguinius' chapter endured and continued to serve the Imperium. Remembering the noble primarch in life as well as his betrayal, Horus felt ashamed. Yet, he also felt hope, for this was another step in the path to redemption.

"Look! What is that abomination?!" Aggregius exclaimed, pointing out the towering figure bursting from the dust of a collapsed basilica.

"A daemon. This just makes things a little harder for us." Horus declared spitefully, turning to the guardsmen standing by. "Ready your weapons, steel your hearts and minds, servants of the Imperium. Even in the midst of battle, Chaos shall seek to ensnare you by any means."

"Fill your hearts with hate!" The commisar began passionately, "That there shall remain no room for doubt! Seek the enemy and strike with righteous fury! That there shall remain no room for fear! With sword and bolter, lasgun and faith, go forward and sow ruin!"

"For the Emprah!" The veteran company cheered, bolting out of the Valkyrie with the two transhumans and their officers at the helm, eager to bolster the ranks of the battered Blood Angels chapter.

Horus was careful not to stomp on the smaller guardsmen as he barreled into the fray, knowing that in their zeal they would not be as cautious as he. For every now and then, a guardsman would bump into his leg and stumble awkwardly out of his way. Soon, they learned to steer clear of the towering figure as he joins them in battle.

The guardsmen leap into the crevices of fallen debris and wrenched pipelines before engaging the enemy. Horus and Aggregius did not have to worry about cover, for they themselves were the wall that kept the guardsmen safe.

Armed with a melta-gun, courtesy of the requisitions unit aboard the _Golgo's Respite_ , Aggregius made manifest his hatred towards the traitors of the Imperium by flames of pure prometheum. The blue streak of light pours forth its wrath upon the armored foes, melting ceramite and warped metal to a pulp as the sergeant hoses the Chaos spacemarines.

Horus fought gloriously that day, truly a sight that the guardsmen would not forget. Many had witnessed the valor and strength of the God Emperor's sons, but only a select few were able to pass the tale on. But the way this one moved, even with as simple as a word, they knew he was different, far from the ordinary spacemarine.

Perhaps, the Emperor knew the guardsmen would hold his son in awe that he wouldn't even bother masking his psychic form. Awe was better than suspicion. In any case, they were more than grateful for his aid in the sector's defense.

The Blood Angels, weary but fueled with an intense rage as they were overcome by the Red Thirst, they turned their baleful gaze upon their new allies in surprise. For a moment, joy found its way into their blazing hearts as they realized they were not forsaken in their task, but then was snuffed out by their desire to rend the traitor marines limb from limb. With bestial yells and shouts amplified by their vox-grills, the loyalists waded in deeper with the servants of Khorne in the melee.

Horus' heart sank when he saw Sanguinius' sons in this state, remembering clear as day the exchange between him and his brother primarch concerning this genetic flaw. Betrayal, yet again wrought by his own hands.

Determination overcame despair as he joined the Blood Angels in the fight, raising the lightspear high above his head and bringing it down with such force that it shook the ground when he stabbed it upon the cracked street of the city. The resulting shockwave sent a powerful surge of psychic energy that struck the Chaos spacemarines wherever they stood, miraculously leaving the Blood Angels unharmed as it reduced them to ash and charred armor remains!

"By the Sanguinor!" One of them gasped, shock overcoming the Red Thirst for a moment. "Who are you?"

"I am your brother, your friend, your ally." Horus replied simply, raising the spear and pointing its tip at the greater daemon as its attention was drawn to the sudden spike of psychic disruption. "Come with me, let us strike this abomination from this world!" The Blood Angels were more than happy to obey, rallying to the imposing figure in white as he charged across the valley of bone and ash, drawing near to the daemon and the war host at its heels.

The chatter of bolter-fire rang through the stillness of the field between the charging parties, loyalist and heretic alike throwing enraged screams and maddened cries as the distance closes.

Horus spots the leader of the Chaos warband, noting the distinguishable additions to the otherwise unremarkable armor, and runs towards him, knowing that in slaying the champion would cripple the warband's resolve.

The unholy and bloodstained symbol of Khorne was etched upon flayed skin, sewn over the aspirant's bared forehead. In one hand, he carried a jagged-toothed axe with a bloodied horned ball carved upon the head in the shape of a bristling skull. In the other, he carried bolter adorned with the flesh and teeth of some great beast. His armor had been stripped of its pauldrons as well as its gauntlets, showing the bare skin beneath that was now covered in dragonscales- a gift from the Blood God. The madman's eyes blazed red with the raw eldritch energies of Khorne's strength, his mouth hung open to reveal a maw set with row upon row of teeth filed down fangs. Frothing spit dribbled down his scarred chin as he set his warp-maddened gaze upon the Nameless Hero, voice echoing with a thousand other voices stemming from the Brass Domain.

" **Maim! Kill! Burn! MAIM! KILL! BURN!"**

But when his eyes set upon the spear in his challenger's hand, Kossolax the Foresworn saw the astral form of the Emperor at the side of the white-clad stranger, it was here the champion of Khorne felt an emotion long forgotten creep into his soul. For a moment, he felt fear.

Then, the daemons took over, and Kossolax charged in like the mad dog he was. Horus, unfazed by the lunatic's animalistic howls, met his assault, easily anticipating and parrying the aspirant's strikes. There was no skill in the champion's dealings, no finesse or strategy, only pure rage and relentless flailing.

Sanguinary High Priest Numitor halted in his recitals of the holy canticles to witness the exchange between the godlike battle-brother in white and the bloodstained servant of Khorne. All were driven to a frenzy as the solar hours passed, but not him. Like a stone sitting in the middle of a river, the man distinguished himself by an eerie calm even in the midst of all this chaos.

Kossolax, upon seeing that he could not best the unknown challenger, brought up the horn blessed with the Blood God's malevolent toucht to his lips. The resulting bellow brought the Bloodthirster's attention to answer the call of its master. It ignored the Blood Angels of the Death Company leaping from the broken spires to assail it from behind, stomping angrily to aid Kossolax in his duel.

Horus remained unthreatened by this gesture, considering it a welcome change in the battle, for it will lessen the casualties on the Blood Angels as the greater daemon would focus what little attention it had on him.

The Primarch gripped his spear firmly and swung it down upon the Foresworn leader, slicing his axe in two as its blade connected with the handle, rendering it useless.

Kossolax let out a scream of frustration and lunged at Horus, intent on gouging his eyes out with his bare hands. His recklessness proved to be his downfall, but the aspirant cared little about his own life, confident that his blood-sacrifices had earned him enough favor for the Blood God to bring him back once his soul was banished into the Warp.

Horus' spear thrusted deep into his chest and spilled black blood from its entry wound to the hole it made through his back. The madman grinned evilly and laughed in spite of the pain, Horus glanced up to see the greater daemon already upon him with its axe raised high to strike. The smile fades from Kossolax's ugly face when he realized something was amiss, for the spearblade burned not only his body and armor- but if felt like it was eating away at his soul too!

Panic-stricken, Kossolax called out desperately for his god to save him from eternal oblivion, feeling the maw of despair swallowing him when Khorne answered with silence.

Horus tore the weapon free from the traitor's chest and dove aside just as the daemon slammed its axe down upon the earth where he stood moments before. Kossolax fell to his knees, screaming as the holy flames consumed him, leaving nothing save for the ashes of his corpse.

In the Warp, the brooding Lord of Skulls scoffed at the soul snuffed out in the material realm. He didn't care about Kossolax's demise, nor did he find himself lacking when the soul never returned to the Brass Domain. He only cared about the blood spilled upon Agripinaa, whether it be loyalist or traitor- it didn't matter.

They all serve him in the end.

* * *

The darkness lifts in the tomb when the circuit was re-established. Green light surrounds the ante-chamber where the Archmagos beheld the necron artefact sitting upon the pedestal covered in ancient necrontyr runes.

After days of constant digging, repelling of Ork invaders and the guardians of the ancient tomb, he finally found it. Veilwalker lived up to her name, enigmatic in her instructions but delivering as promised- which was more than he could say for the sources he'd come to rely on lifetimes ago.

Unafraid to interact with the artefact then and there, Archmagos Belisarius Cawl made the necessary preparations, both for his immediate study of the necron bauble and the establishment of security checkpoints throughout the known routes of the tomb catacombs. Satisfied that all was done, he attached the interactive devices and cables to the necron artefact and allowed his trusted deciphering systems to begin their work.

The results were nothing short of spectacular, yet for all his amazement for the discovery of so much secrets, Cawl realized many were too damning to be exploited at this time. Treading carefully through the maze of the ancient digital network, the Archmagos sifted through the mountains of data to obtain what he came for, ignoring the temptation to revel in his discovery.

Then, by mere chance, he found it.

In a galaxy replete with mysteries, the Cadian Pylons are amongst the most enduring. Despite millennia of study, the Adeptus Mechanicus long failed to discover the purpose of the pylons. Servitors sent within invariably ceased to function or suffered circuit overload; all attempts to breach the structures' gleaming surfaces met with failure. Any recovered data was fragmentary at best, and contradictory at worst. Even the identity of the pylons' creators was shrouded in mystery.

But now, Cawl knew everything. They were of Necron origin, erected over 65 million solar years ago by the Necrons during their ancient war with the Old Ones to serve as a defence against the psychic abilities of the Warp - the Necrons' only real vulnerability. The pylons essentially acted as anti-psychic field emitters, restricting the activity of the Immaterium in proximity to them.

It made perfect sense why so many of them were seen scattered on the surface of the worlds adjacent of the Cadian Gate, where the Eye of Terror now writhed and grew with each passing year. At this point, all thoughts of suspicion towards the eldar harlequin's ulterior motives were set aside. Cawl knew he had to make haste towards Obscurus, having received recent reports of a massive mobilization of Chaos forces- the largest ever seen in a millennia.

Packing up everything, including the necron artefact, the Archmagos left the desert planet for Cadia. To his horror, Belisarius Cawl soon found out that warp-travel had been rendered impossible due to the spacial distortions found in the segmentum.

Sub-light would be too slow, in his opinion, there may not be much of Cadia left by the time he gets there.

 **}!{**

 **Might be too early, but I'm gonna write it down anyway.**

 **Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, my dearest readers! Enjoy the holidays ( I know I will ) and thank you so much for your continued support of this fic!**


	7. Fire and Blood

**}!{**

Lieutenant Mercutio stood tall and rigid as an oak tree upon the platform of the colonel's Leviathan, awed and humbled by the rare honor of standing beside the officers of the Whiteshields in the Landing Parade.

For the first time in their lives, the youths of the Whiteshields regiment would bear witness to the arrival of the famed Volscani Cataphracts upon the fields of Tyrok outside the bastions of the hive cities. The hardened Cadian sector defenders were called upon by the Cadian High Command to assemble at Cadia Prime, their presence primarily to boost morale and ensure stability reigned above panic in both the Imperial Guard and the citizens under their protection.

With the increasing frequency and scale of Chaos activity within the sector, it was most wise that the Lord Castellan called for a mass mobilization of the sector defense forces. With the Astartes kept busy far from the Cadian Gate, it was up to the men and women of the Astra Militarum to maintain the security of the Segmentum Obscurus.

"Throne of Terra, I've never seen so many of them!" Mercutio breathed in proudly, taking in the thousands of battle-hardened guardsmen arriving in scores of Valkyrie dropships. The Volscani numbers were indeed many, so much that mobile landing pads were commissioned to accommodate the troops making landfall upon Tyrok. Though trained to endure days of standing still, the lieutenant hated the waiting as restlessness gnawed on him like a starved hound.

"Over there, LT." Sgt. Ekohr pointed at the regiment painted in distinctive dark green and bearing pauldrons of reinforced steel. The colors of their standard and the twin Titans standing tall above the formation were instantly recognizable, "That's Creed's 8th!"

"Eyes front, lads!" Mercutio's captain growled, "And keep your mouths shut! Don't embarrass me now!"

Mercutio's bootheels clack loudly in response as he straightened himself, eyes fixed upon the planetary governor's mobile command center. The legendary Ursarkar Creed was here, on Cadia! All thoughts of irreverence left the young man's mind as he stood upon that platform in the heat of Cadia's late afternoon air. He was among heroes! This was a day of celebration, a reprieve from the constant battles no matter how small. He would enjoy it as much as he could.

The massive construct's engines bellowed loud above the heavy thunder of the guardsmen's march as it made its way to the head of the parade. By the time men had assembled upon the fields, the sun had already begun dipping itself into the horizon.

Lord Castellan Marus Porelska stepped out of the massive doors of his gilded Leviathan with his entourage of high-ranking officials, composed mostly of decorated commissars and representatives of the Adeptus Mechanicus, ready to greet the Volscani regiments come to reinforce their brothers and sisters upon Cadia Prime. The klaxons magnified the governor's words above and beyond the massive fields of Tyrok as he began his speech, "Men and women of the Astra Militarum! Welcome back to Cadia Prime!"

Everyone's attention was fixed upon the Lord Castellan's words, everyone save for Mercutio, whose attention was ever wandering from one regiment to another as he scanned the field before him- much to the annoyance of his commanding officer.

Finally, the young man's keen eyes fell upon the Volscani Cataphracts. Awe gave way to suspicion, however, as he scrutinized the various additions to the guardsmen battle regalia. With the dizzying vision of a thousand bodies pressed together, it was easy to mistake the stains upon their weapons and armor for medals or some other battle-camo. How could anyone have missed that?

"Captain-

Before Mercutio could finish his sentence, gunfire erupted among the ranks of the assembled guardsmen! In a flash, standards of the Volscani regiment were cast down, replaced by banners made out of human skin adorned with heretic symbols and runic markings!

Only Creed, the colonel of the Cadian 8th regiment sprang into action where all else succumbed to confusion and disarray. "Heretics! Kill them!"

Bolter and lasfire shot out from all directions, bodies started piling upon the assembly field, and the planetary governor's personal transport got swarmed from all sides as the regiments surrounding the Leviathan fell to the traitors' assault.

Marus Porelska, after serving the Imperium for seventy solar years, met his end hacked to pieces by the maddened Volscani as they dragged him out of the tank and into the open ground. With his desecrated remains in hand, they raised it up for all to see, intent on shattering Imperial Guard morale as the Cadian High Command lay butchered upon Tyrok Fields.

This served to anger the surviving loyalists, however, and even more so in the case of the 8th Regiment. Ursarkar Creed, the highest ranking officer alive, took command of the remaining guardsmen and mounted a counter-assault to beat back the advancing tide. The cities lay within a mile of the assembly fields, and if they were to be defeated in this single attack, Cadia would fall and the whole sector will follow. Mercutio, duty-bound to protect his homeworld at all costs, felt his heart swell with righteous zeal. As a stray round struck his captain upon the cheek, the lieutenant was quick to take command and grabbed the fallen officer's chainsword. "Get the fucking Leman Russes in here!"

The Whiteshields' standards fly high as the hulking bricks of metal and hardened steel barrel inward to assist the vastly outnumbered loyalist regiments. Cannons roared as shells were discharged, man-made weaponry pitted against warp-twisted creature and monstrosities. With the shed of first blood, the tears into the hellish realm were opened up, innate psyker guardsmen were sacrificed every now and then to keep them open. Every hour that passed, the numbers of the heretics doubled as the daemons joined in the

It had been a while since the men and women of Cadia faced against the hordes of Chaos on the homeworld, dating back until the 12th Black Crusade of the dreaded Despoiler. Rumors had circulated that this was just the beginning of what seemed to be the 13th Black Crusade, rumors and speculations that Mercutio wished remained as such.

The engine of the captured Leviathan roars to life as the Volscani brought the ancient movile fortress to purpose, turning its massive guns upon the loyalists still reeling from the sudden attack. The Macro cannons showered the fields of Tyrok with a rain of steel and fire, shattering the resolve of the Imperial Guard and causing them to break formation.

Mercutio couldn't blame them, for the powerful weapons of the Leviathan were truly things to be feared, yet he must maintain their morale as commanding officer. He strode forward, donning the façade of courage as he moved to restore order amongst his men. "Get back in formation, you soldiers of Cadia! A little thunder won't hurt you! Pick up your lasguns and fight!"

As screaming shells impacted all around him, the young officer soon found himself face to face with a towering heretic, size doubled to monstrous proportions as the Warp infused him with ruinous energies. "It is not thunder you should fear, loyalist dog!" It raised its massive arms to strike the smaller man, "But the lightning that precedes it!"

Mercutio's chainsword revs up as he squeezed the trigger, he brings it up to block the possessed Volscani's weapon as it falls with incredible speed, sending him down on one knee as the force of the blow shakes his whole body. The lieutenant possessed no artificial augmentations of any kind, for he trusted himself to improve his own body naturally. This strength would do little when pitted against a warped man, but it offered a slight advantage in this case, for the heretic's mind was split into a thousand when he offered himself up to Chaos, whereas Mercutio was of one mind and body.

The teeth of the chainsword eats viciously against the flak-armor of the possessed guardsman and tears at his flesh as the lieutenant swiftly dove to the side from beneath the larger man. The boltpistol whips up and bores two holes in the back of the traitor's skull. Blood and viscera spill into the field, the possessed guardsman shudders as the life leaves him abruptly.

"Even with lightning, I shall know no fear!" Mercutio declared. The brief display coaxed a little bit of courage out of the onlooking loyalists. Seeing their commander deal with the possessed man and proving him vulnerable to conventional means as any mortal, they surged forward with raised lasguns and steeled hearts. The battle at Tyrok fields resumes with renewed vigor as the war hero Ursarkar Creed lead them straight into the heart of the rebellion, meeting the Volscani tide with their own in an unrelenting clash of sword and gun.

* * *

Terror gripped the hearts of the Imperial Guard as the greater daemon's roar drowned out the noise of battle, sending them cowering in the nearest bit of cover their bodies could huddle beside. Yet this was not the roar of a beast ready to close in for its kill, it was the roar of a wounded monster backed into a corner.

The bloodlust-addled mind of the daemon could not understand why its strength was all for naught in the face of this white-clad hero. Thousands of valiant warriors had fought against it only to be crushed beneath its mighty hooves, why not him? There was no room for the daemon to answer the questions plaguing its panicked thoughts, for its only response was to act upon its basest instinct- lashing out.

Horus side-stepped the daemon's axe-swing as it came down; ignoring the tremor the weapon made as it buried itself deep into the bloodied street, then leaped forward, tackling the beast and driving it off-balance as they tumbled into the corpse-ridden cistern below.

The Blood Angels finished off the remaining cultists and heretic astartes before amassing at the edges of the waterway, looking on in grim anticipation as the Nameless Hero battled the daemon upon the muck-filled trench. There was no lasting defiance in the Bloodthirster's scrap with Horus, only the final breaths that heralded its approaching end.

The lightspear shone with the light of a newborn sun as Horus raised it high and kept its brilliance as he plunged it deep into the daemon's heart, burning it away from all existence. For the grizzled veterans of the Blood Angels, this was the first time they've seen a daemon truly die. Vengeful hearts were filled with joy at the sight, for the Blood God's servant wasn't spared another day to fight, while others looked on in suspicion at what had been done.

Numitor, the highest ranking Sanguinary officer amongst the Blood Angels, had no room for doubt at what his eyes had witnessed. His mind, like all his brothers of the cursed chapter, was so plagued with grief and the ceaseless cycle of the Black Rage that he welcomed the change this battle represented. The elder apothecary gripped the body of the holy chalice as he approached the man, armor sullied with the ichor and stains of battle.

They had but a moment to break words, for there was a war yet to be fought. "Brother! Welcome to Agripinaa!" Numitor greeted the Nameless Hero, "Would that circumstances have been favourable that I would greet you better. Come, there are more traitors to kill on this world."

"This greeting is all the kind I need." The Nameless Hero replied as he held up the strange spear. Numitor watched as the blade bursts into flames as it burned away the blood of the daemon still smeared upon it, "I bear good news. The battle above Agripinaa has been won, and the traitors left upon the forge-world are without reinforcements for the time being. If we push to regain control of this world, now is the hour to do so."

"Agreed, but will you be joining us?"

Horus took pause in this inquiry. This was not the purpose he felt he was called upon. Indeed, this assault on the worlds of the Segmentum Obscurus was the start of something bigger than a mere raid orchestrated by the forces of Chaos. His mind, though young in years, was filled with military experience from centuries of serving in the Imperium prior to his fall. Nothing was done in accident, all had a purpose, and he knew the Chaos gods' foul hands were at work here.

His personal crusade to release the Emperor from the Golden Throne will definitely have to wait. But before he could answer the priest's inquiry, Horus received a transmission from the _Golgo's Respite_ bearing ill tidings. _"Milord, you need to hear this."_

"Give me a moment, brother." Horus politely withdrew from the conversation. Reports came in of overpopulated Hive Worlds as far apart as the Scarus and the Cadian Sectors erupting suddenly in violence, seemingly without cause. Even the higher echelons of Hive World Tabor and the naval base at Belis Corona proved to be riven with Chaos Cults.

Charismatic demagogues incited frenzied mobs to fight the ruthless, crushing oppression inherent in the Imperium's system of rule, and hundreds of thousands heeded their seditious ravings. Assassinations and poisonings heralded new eras of anarchy in key warzones, and whole supply fleets mysteriously vanished.

Nemesis Tessera, St. Josmane's Hope and Lelithar were all ravaged by insurrection. The worlds of the Belis Corona System underwent a massive recruitment drive for the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy, and priestly delegations stirred up the new Imperial conscripts into a fever of righteous anger.

Horus despaired at the flood of ill tidings that washed upon him, but he refused to allow it to hinder his quest of redemption. No matter how dark the days have become for the Imperium, the penitent Primarch felt it was his duty to bring back the dawn of days so that hope may never fade for mankind. "I'm sorry, my brother. I cannot tarry here, for my quest takes me elsewhere. Carry on your tasks here without me."

Aggregius, who was more familiar with the sector compared to his nameless companion, inquired of what he felt was of greater import. "Captain Maranda, what about Cadia Prime? I believe these attacks are mere noise sent to distract our forces from the true threat. Is there any report of an assault upon the Segmentum capital?"

" _Your concern is not at all misguided, milord. I share it as well. Communications show nothing but static, and our astropaths are going mad to the point of death onboard the Golgo's Respite. I've coordinated our efforts with the rest of the fleet here on Battlegroup Agripinaa, they report the same."_

"What do the astropaths say, Captain?" Horus asked, dreading the reply.

" _It would be better if you heard it yourself, milord. I'm transmitting the feeds directly from the deciphering chambers of the astropaths that yet live."_

Horus frowned upon hearing the feverish moans of the tormented psykers chained to the ancient machinery of the _Golgo's Respite_. In his day, psykers were tolerated as functioning members of society both military-wise and other, even as far as allowing them to guide or directly influence the armies of the Imperium. Seeing those unfortunate souls used as nothing more than flesh-automatons greatly disturbed the Primarch, for he knew such a need was unnecessary had he not allowed himself to fall in that Great Rebellion.

The telepathic choir was restrained as they soaked up the maddening visions and portents of the Warp, most of which were as useless as the noise one hears in the background of a vox-communique. " _And lo, as the veil is drawn on the last age of Man, the Despoiler shall gather his hosts once more. Where twelve times before the Faithful have cast him out, now shall he prove their undoing. For Man has grown weak, despairing at the woes of the galaxy. Where are the Faithful now? Where are the men that stood beside our Lord the Immortal Emperor and at His side conquered all? Gone. They are less than ashes in the cold, cold earth. At the Thirteenth hour shall the Despoiler return. All Humanity shall tremble, for lo, his doom is upon him._ "

The Emperor's Tarot, a collection of divining cards was cast upon the decisive deck of the bridge. It did not bode well for the Segmentum as Cpt. Maranda witnessed the combination of the _Eye of Horus_ with the _Great Host_ , the _Shattered World_ above the _Emperor's Throne_ reversed, and the _Galactic Lens_ reversed.

It signified the gathering of the powers of Chaos and the death of many worlds.

In the background, Tzeentch laughed, greatly amused at the slow pace the mortal minds had to comprehend the scale of the Despoiler's plot to at last shatter the gates of Cadia. The newborn Horus seemed competent enough to thwart the siege of Agripinaa, a world inconsequential compared to the others already falling to the violent unrest of the panicking Imperial citizens and the raids of other aspiring Chaos champions. Yet even with his commendable accomplishments, the Lord of Change felt that this venture of the penitent Primarch was reckless and a waste of potential.

Being the God of Plots, Tzeentch came up with another plan to sway the Primarch to his cause. But first thing's first, he had to back up Abaddon in his campaign to bring the Segmentum Obscurus to its knees.

* * *

"Our will falters!"

The last cry of the battle-sister rang through the timeless skies of the Warp before the daemon's talons dug deep into her throat, robbing her of voice and staining the rust-colored earth below with her blood. She fell, joining the hundred corpses piling upon the clump of earth plucked from the world swallowed up by the Empyrean.

Five companies of loyal warmaidens, that's how many of them started out in the voyage for the glorious crusade, led by the holy Confessor Alorios Telln. Time felt like hours as the rifts opened and took them into the roiling oceans of the Warp, but every sister knew that centuries had passed since they've left the safety of realspace.

Here they were now, crashed upon a daemon infested world deep within the recesses of the Warp and at the mercy of the hellish guardians stationed there. Khorne himself watched with what little amusement his ruinous mind could muster as the servants of the Imperium and his own daemonkin spilled blood in his honor upon the makeshift arena once known as Ororo V.

Confessor Telln had fallen easily, much to the Blood God's displeasure. The man, clothed in purity and piety that masked a nature mired in lechery and degeneracy, died pissing himself as a greater daemon cleaved him in two.

Inwardly, the sisters were glad to see him go, but focused their minds on repelling the daemon swarms pouring in from the depths of Ororo V. Day after day, they worked to keep the enemy off the backs of their servitors as they pieced together the vital components required to get their ships back online. Unfortunately, the battle-barges were so ancient that not even the fervent prayers could coax the machine-spirits to cooperate.

Nevertheless, it felt like a good end for the sisters, for they would die fighting the enemies of the Imperium- a spit in the eye of Chaos.

"We will be martyrs!" Canonness Eleanor and Genevieve, twin sisters who stood by the side of the Confessor until his swift death, rallied the broken Adepta Sororitas to their raised banners. To keep their wavering morale ever true, the twins began singing battle hymns whilst pelting the advancing red tide with bolter-fire.

"A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing!  
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing!"

It came as great comfort to the pure maidens of the Martyred Lady order, their ears picking up the tune and lips forming the blessed words.

"For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe!  
His craft and pow'r are great, and, armed with cruel hate,  
On earth is not his equal!"

Daemonic fire rained down upon the entrenched sisters, who stood shoulder to shoulder at their approaching end. They no longer feared their impending doom, their faith in the Emperor ever strong.

"Dost ask who that may be? The Emperor, it is He!  
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,  
And He must win the battle!"

The daemons were closing in, their fiery breaths filling the air with sulfur that assaulted the sisters' nostrils with their stench. The chatter of gunfire never let up, prometheum flames answering daemon-fire with the hatred of an oppressed people.

"And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,  
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us;  
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;  
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,  
One little word shall fell him!"

Suddenly, a bright light pierces the blood-red glow of the Warped skies. "His kingdom is forever!" All eyes turned to the divine intervention, hope springing in the eyes of the sisters as they beheld Saint Celestine coming to their rescue and hatred in the eyes of the khornate daemons upon seeing their dreaded enemy joining the battle.

The benevolent warmaiden descended upon the red tide, stemming its flow until it grounded to a halt. Daemon blood spilled upon the ground as her Ardent Blade cut a swath through their ranks, banishing them back to the Brass Realm where they came. Khorne frowned at the intervention but did nothing other than watch as Celestine reduced his army to ash.

The sisters, overjoyed that their prayers were answered, fell to their knees before their savior and sang praises to the God Emperor who never abandoned them in their darkest hour.

"Rise, my sisters." Celestine lowered herself until her feet touched the tainted ground. Her presence burned away the corruption, then coaxed life from the otherwise dead earth. Flowers sprang up from the cracked soil, much to the astonishment of all who bore witness to her return.

Even in the Warp, life blossoms. "Rise." Celestine beckoned once more, walking amongst the faithful servants of the Imperium. "The Imperium has need of us once more."

Awed by the living proof of the Emperor's holiness walking amongst them, the sisters gathered around Celestine and reached out to touch the hallowed Saint. They kissed her hands and feet and withdrew, muttering prayers of gratitude before addressing her command. "What would you have us do, glorious saint?"

Celestine knew they would not react as well as she did when the Emperor relayed his plan to her. "The Emperor has regained his strength and is present in the Warp. He has told me of his grand plan to save the Imperium from both the enemies pressing at its borders and from itself. Rally to me, I shall aid you in departing from this hellscape. Cadia calls for the faithful to aid in its defense."

"And so we shall." The sisters bowed, taking their leave to help in repairing the damaged transporters. Only the twin canonnesses Eleanor and Genevieve stayed to break words with the Saint.

"Holy Saint, forgive our insolence, but we must ask. There is more to this task, is there not?"

She would not hide it from them, so she revealed that one part of the plan that disturbed her the most. "The Emperor also brought back an unlikely ally as well. I ask that you save your hate for the enemies of the Imperium, not him. Or at least, until I have tested him myself."

"Who? Who is it that you speak of, milady?"

"I speak of the Wolf of Terra. I speak of Horus Lupercal."

 **}!{**

 **Dear readers, I apologize for taking a while. I had no idea you were expecting an update even with the holidays. It's been a busy couple of weeks, but I found the time to get this chapter up and running. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **As for you, Crom'Torak, thank you.**

 **I was thinking about the details of the Wolves of Terra ( the armor, the look and everything ), then your suggestion came up. It'll be a good scheme, I think I'll use it- with your permission of course :)**


	8. Let the Galaxy Burn

**O-kay! I'm back from the holidays, and guess what?**

 **I'm bored as hell!**

 **Typing this one chapter was sluggish compared to the others, but totally worth it. The war for Cadia is coming to a head with the forces of Chaos and Order mobilizing for the final confrontation upon the Gate, and that got me really excited!**

 **Here's hoping the chapter doesn't fall apart ( fingers crossed )**

 **Special A/N**

 **Also, I think I made it clear that the M rating spells the nature of this fic, yeah? Warhammer is gritty, dark and violent, with little silver linings compared to other genres. Still, that doesn't seem to stop a few of my readers from complaining in the PM's that my fic is too dark, inappropriate, and all that nonsense.**

 **My answer is simple: While this is a redemption saga, I do the W40k universe no justice if I "tone it down". If you're looking for a relaxing fanfic full of non-violence, drama and all that fluff- I'm sorry to say- YOU ARE IN THE WRONG SIDE OF THE INTERNET!**

 **I accept ideas and the like, adding them to improve the fic ( with permission of course ) whenever and wherever they fit. To reiterate; If you ask me to tone it down, it's no longer the Warhammer universe we know and love ( and hate ).**

 **I'll write this down only once: STOP WHINING.**

 **And, with that written down, I hope it's clear enough for everyone to understand. If you're not one of the whiners, by all means disregard this author's note.**

 **Thank you, and please enjoy.**

 **}!{**

"Negative, Orbital Command."

Sgt. Araia paused to discharge his bolt-pistol at a shambler just as the blighted thing crawled out of a wrenched sewer grating to attack the Kasrkin that had made planetfall upon the lost world of Urthwart.

The zombie falls still as the round bursts its bloated head open, leaving a quivering mass of rotted flesh in its place. "No sign of enemy activity here, just a whole lot of shamblers who've fallen out of the Emperor's grace, sir."

The Cadian elite taskforce had been pushed into the outer reaches of the Gate, resulting from their constant vigil of the Eye of Terror, knowing that an attack upon Cadia would soon come. Desperate to know where the first blow might land, the fleet where he was stationed set out for the world where astropathic divination pointed, which happened to be Ulthwart.

But instead of the expected forces of Disorder, the landing team found only victims of the dreaded Curse of Unbelief. Suddenly, a frantic Vox communication from the Cadians' warships in orbit reported in. _"Numerous vessels advancing on Urthwart from the Eye of Terror! Sergeant, get your men back on your transporters and pull back! I say again- pull back!"_

The Karskin attempted to fall back to their dropships to return to their troop carriers, but it was already too late. The Imperial ships in orbit were either crippled or were forced to disengage and make best speed for Cadia.

There was to be no escape for the Karskin who were stranded on Urthwart as a massive vessel, larger than the most gargantuan capital ship of the Imperium, approached the doomed world: the _Planet Killer_! Few were aware of the existence of this monstrous ship, for it had been thought lost at the Battle of Kharlos II during the Gothic War centuries earlier.

Oblivious to their fate, the stranded Cadians could do nothing as the incomprehensible power of the _Planet Killer_ was unleashed in a devastating lance of energy that annihilated the blighted world they were trapped upon and reduced it to spinning pieces of molten rock floating in the void.

As Urthwart died, collapsing in on itself, a Chaos warfleet composed of hundreds of warships and hulking troop transports surged from the depths of the Eye of Terror, heralding the beginning of Abaddon the Despoiler's fearful 13th Black Crusade. A psychic death scream, more piercing than the Astronomican itself, ripped through the ether from the doomed world of Urthwart.

Astropaths and forward Imperial listening posts detected the emergence into realspace of a Traitor warfleet consisting of hundreds of warships and hulking troop transport vessels. All were on a course for Cadia. Reports indicated that the _Plagueclaw_ and _Terminus Est_ , along with a massive flotilla of Plague Hulks, had emerged in the Subiaco Diablo System.

Worse than this, unconfirmed reports claimed that two Blackstone Fortresses accompanied the Chaos warfleet. Cadian Sector High Command found this last fact difficult to countenance, though given the state of the sector in the previous solar months, they could not discount the possibility that these ancient xenos weapons still existed within the hands of the Forces of Chaos.

Aboard the Abaddon stared into the vastness of space, the urge to allow a millennia of pent up rage to lash out against the galaxy was strong in him, but for the sake of his carefully planned campaign he reined the bloodlust in. His warmongers let out a chorus of eager howls and shouts of wrathful hate as they watched the loyalist fleet shatter and burn to ash around the _Planet Killer_. They wanted more blood, more death, for the brief skirmish was unsatisfactory to their voracious appetite for killing. Abaddon silenced them all with a glare, though promising the blood they so craved by ordering a swift assault upon the neigboring worlds in the system, sealing the doom of the helpless Imperial citizens.

Over the course of six days, the surrounding systems were put to the sword. Terrible, mighty Chaos Space Marines trod the surface of worlds they had not set foot upon for ten millennia and their hatred and thirst for vengeance truly knew no bounds. Billions of farmers, forge-sons and forge-daughters, soldier and defending astartes were sacrificed to the thirsting gods of the Warp, further fueling the war machine the Despoiler guided ever onwards to the Gate. Yet this assault was a mere prelude to an even greater storm that would soon engulf the entire Segmentum.

The other twelve failures were born of a single error, each varying from the other, but the Warmaster would not allow a thirteenth. He had grown more cunning, more powerful, and even more patient since his last visit upon the mortal realm. And so, even more dangerous than the twelve times combined.

As his minions went forth and sown ruin across the sector, the Despoiler smiled to himself. "Let the galaxy burn." Aside from his desire to finally finish what he had set out to do concerning the Cadian Gate, Abaddon found himself most eager to cross paths with the newborn clone of his progenitor. A pale imitation of the Lupercal in his eyes, maybe, but the Warmaster cannot allow the Imperium to gain any form of significant edge against his plans for galactic domination. They were weak now, especially with the infighting the dying empire was afflicted with, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Still, this Horus clone was a threat that needed to be stomped out.

* * *

"Warden Ackerman! Ma'am! The mob has gone on a rampage! They're at the gates!"

High Warden Killian Ackerman rose from her desk and calmly reached for her service rifle before following the guardsman out of her office. For the eighth time this week, the insurrectionists have been stirring up trouble amongst the inmates working the mining districts A1 to C15. The unrest has spread until manufactorum districts D12 and even up to the admium district where she and the rest of the supervising wardens were stationed in.

The woman was never above dispensing correctional actions upon the troublesome prisoners, be it bolter or prometheum, and it seemed to be the opportune moment to use such methods again.

But something was wrong about this uprising, and the High Warden knew it. "Bring me up to speed, guardsman."

"There was an unauthorized landing in the distribution sector above the manufactorum district D1. At first, we thought it was them spacemarines coming for a purge. But then, the mob got agitated when they arrived. Communications have gone dark from all surrounding districts, we don't know what's going on other than the fact the inmates have torched most of the sectors and are at our doorstep, ma'am!"

"Calm down, lad." The older woman ordered, "Keep your head on the task at hand, there will be no fear involved on our part, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am, of course."

"Good." Ackerman declared, entering the armory in which the rest of the defense force had assembled at her command. She stopped atop the catwalks and announced, "I'm not one for speeches, ladies and gentlemen. Saint Josmane's Hope calls for you, and you all know your duty. Let's man our stations and put down this uprising."

The guardsmen of the penal colony acknowledged the High Warden's words with a stiff salute and a silent mobilization, trotting off to man the kill-slits and heavy bolter emplacements atop the spires of the massive complex. Saint Josmane's Hope was the Cadian system's prison world, responsible for rehabilitating the worst criminals through the labors of the mines or lobotomizing them as servitors should they refuse to allow the rehabilitation process reshape them into functional members of society.

Today was the day that proved the latter's failure.

Little did the wardens know that the astartes who arrived on the penal colony were not, in fact, of the Imperium. Though hailed as liberators by the abused populace, the spacemarines were in fact devout followers of the Chaos god Slaanesh, a renegade chapter called the Violators. The doors of the complex, reinforced by heavy slabs of hardened ceramite, were blasted open by the shrill cries of the Slaaneshi marines' sonic weaponry, allowing the maddened inmates to pour in to exact their wrath upon their jailers.

The ensuing fighting was intense, to say the least. The inmates bore blunt weapons, such as wrenches and stolen warhammers from the battle-vaults of the manufactorum districts, as a stark contrast to the better equipped guardsmen defending the admium complex.

Unafraid to get her hands dirty, the High Warden joined in the defense, firing upon the howling mob with a steady hail of bolter rounds from her customized service rifle. Seeing the bodies piling on top of each other reminded Ackerman of her days fighting the Orks in the jungles of Kaurava, yet she found it was unsettling to see that frenzied look of the beasts upon a human's face. The Violators came into view as they flanked the advancing tide, holding aloft their sonic weapons as they sang obscenities through their vox-grills.

When the tide was stemmed, the guardsmen turned their weapons upon the approaching heretic astartes. In someone else's perspective, like perhaps those that stare through the veil separating realities, one would've laughed at the attempt the lesser men were putting up against a far more superior force. Ackerman saw this and knew there was no chance for them to make a stand and live to tell the tale, and so the High Warden gave the final order to spare her men from the horrid fate of suffering at the hands of the Slaaneshi heretics.

The wardens, huddled behind the slabs of iron, turned their weapons inwards and consigned themselves to oblivion, denying the forces of the Dark Prince the satisfaction of subjecting them to all manners of depravity.

It was wise of them to do so, but it did not stop the maddened inmates from desecrating the bodies of their jailers. Dissatisfied with the death of the High Warden, the Violators commanded the most depraved of the prisoners to strip her corpse naked and defile it in any way possible, all the while carving the blasphemous runes of their patron upon her forehead and hands.

With this new banner at their disposal, the Violators planted Ackerman's marked corpse upon the shattered gates of the admium complex, reminding the denizens of the penal colony that the world was now under new management.

* * *

"Atten-hut!"

Bootheels clacked together soundly at the announcement, all officers present at the closed session briefing room turned to salute the newly appointed Lord Castellan- Ursarkar Creed. Following the death of his predecessor and the whole of the Cadian High Command at the hands of the Volscani traitors, the former colonel remained as the only high ranking official in the system. Left with little choice but to assume the position of system governor and commander-in-chief, Ursarkar took the mantle and in so doing, re-established order to the beleagured forces of the Imperial Guard. Though he had many political enemies, they all stepped aside in this moment of crisis, knowing that bigger things hung in the balance than their personal grievances.

Behind him marched the towering spacemarines of the storied Spacewolf Chapter, yet not just any astartes, for these were the Kingsguard of the famed Great Wolf Lord of Fenris- Logan Grimnar! The man himself showed his face, following his Kingsguard into the briefing chamber with his mouth still full of roasted chicken. The journey had been long for the Wolf Father, and his ever-growing appetite had to be sated for the time being.

News of the recently destroyed world of Urthwart had reached the Cadian High Command hours after the victory at Tyrok Fields, received as yet the first of a thousand more bad news to come. And rightly so, for news had reached them of the brewing threat upon the penal world of Saint Josmane's Hope, the fall of its admium districts and the brutal massacre of the wardens stationed there.

Many officers within Cadian High Command had not heard of the Violators until they had been invited to this closed session along with Lord Castellan Creed, where a representative of the Inquisition imparted to them the awful truth concerning the hedonistic heretics, so that Imperial forces would be better prepared to combat them.

This representative was Inquisitor Norn of the Ordo Hereticus, having been brought to Cadia months before the battle on Tyrok Fields and after his work on Inouna to hunt down perceived threats of heresy amongst the ranks of the Imperial Guard. His presence on Cadia Prime and the blades of his ward Silicia have been instrumental in cutting down the cults spread over the Cadian underground, though not enough to prevent the disaster on the assembly line.

Captain Mercutio, immediately promoted to such a rank after his deeds won over the admiration of the Lord Castellan, stood close to the commanders of the Cadian 8th, having merged his regiment with them after there was little to none that remained of it after Tyrok Fields.

What they were told about the Violators' activities filled even hardened veterans with horror, for no man, no matter his crime, deserved to have the attentions of such vile creatures visited upon him.

Soon the defences of every one of the worlds in the Cadian System were sorely tested, and despite the efforts of the Commissariat to maintain Imperial morale through censorship of news, word spread of the atrocities being committed upon Saint Josmane's Hope.

Time was of the essence, and Creed could simply not sit and wait while those Violators roamed free upon Saint Josmane's Hope. When approached upon what must be done, he answered curtly. "The world of Saint Josmane's Hope is to be subjected to Exterminatus and destroyed utterly."

Although seen as a wise move for the newly appointed commander, there were still some obstacles to such an endeavor. A few other colonels spoke up about the issues concerning the bold decision, "The enaction of an Exterminatus is beyond the resources available to the Imperial forces present in the system; the agents of the Inquisition confirmed this and said that their own ships that carried the needed weapons of mass destruction are many solar weeks distant."

Logan Grimnar cleared his throat, "To confirm, none of the available vessels of my Chapter fleet carries Cyclonic torpedoes, and neither does any Astartes warship within range." The Imperial Navy put forward the plan of instigating a massive bombardment of the world using Nova Cannons, in the hope of causing a degree of tectonic instability, but all available intelligence suggested that the Chaotic fleets blockading Saint Josmane's Hope's orbital space were too strong. The bombardment vessels would not survive to launch a single shell, let alone the hundred or more required to complete the task.

"If I may offer a solution." An Adeptus Mechanicus representative put up, "That tectonic instability could be created by overloading the generatorium grid of the planet's main prison complex."

The resulting explosion would pierce the world's crust, thereby causing a meltdown to "sing" through the planet's outer crust and into its mantle. This would cause the crust, followed by the planetary mantle, to tear itself apart. The only drawback to this plan was that such an objective would need to be completed by a team of operatives on the ground, for it could not be attempted remotely.

So in essence, the priest suggested a suicide squad to be sent over to Saint Josmane's Hope in order to carry out the task of _Exterminatus_. The plan was approved without much contradictions, and the officers and astartes involved moved to select the men to perform this important mission.

"I'll go, sir." Mercutio found himself saying. Whether it was out of his eagerness to put duty above his life or otherwise, it didn't really register in the young man's mind as he volunteered for the mission.

Ursarkar Creed was handed all the data on the captain of the Whiteshields, and the older man looked upon the youth thoughtfully as he read over the impressive but brief details of his accomplishments. No other words needed to be said, for Mercutio knew this was a one way ticket, and no songs would be sung about his mission should he go for this. Yet, he still didn't care for glory, for the lad knew in his heart that he was making the Emperor proud.

The lad reminded Creed strongly of himself, and it saddened him to think such a dutiful man would be thrown into the meat-grinder so soon. Yet he knew, of all people, a guardsman's life is to die. "Very well, Captain. Assemble your men, we will have you depart within the hour."

Mercutio saluted stiffly, "Sir!"

The special team was assembled in short order and given the moniker "Strike Force Herald." It was composed of an unlikely mix which included astartes from the Space Wolves and the Dark Angels, five tech-priests necessary to operate on the ancient machinery working the generatorium, and strangely enough- the death cult assassin Silicia.

Inquisitor Norn took the woman aside and spoke to her in their bastardized words of Low Gothic, words that only she and the Inquisitor would understand. He said goodbye to the only family he had ever known, accepting her desire to serve the Cult of Death by playing a role in Saint Josmane's Hope's _Exterminatus_.

Twenty-four solar hours before this strike force was due to achieve its objective, the evacuation order was issued to those few forces the Imperium still commanded on the surface of Saint Josmane's Hope.

"Emperor help us all." Ursarkar muttered, a prayer for all the valiant defenders of the Cadian sector, as he watched the transport ships depart for the doomed penal world. Though a man possessing a fractional faith, Creed did not believe his words were heeded in any way, believing instead in the efforts by mortal hands and its results rather than the divine hand of the Emperor.

Contrary to the Lord Castellan's beliefs, however, such a simple prayer was in fact heard by the Emperor, who grows stronger every day in the Warp. Horus, ever vigilant for his father's guidance, draws ever closer to the Gate.

The Despoiler too, guided by his malevolent patrons, marches slowly but steadily towards his prize, leaving burning worlds in his wake. The pieces were all in place, ready for the players to make their move, and all creation watches as the Great Game- the culmination of a thousand years of schemes and bloodshed- draws to a close.

 **}!{**


	9. Saint Josmane's Hope

**}!{**

"Holy Emperor, your servant beseeches you…" Silicia whispered, letting her tongue snake out of her lips to wet the stiletto blades in her hands. "…accept the souls I snuff out this day in your name."

Mercutio watches the shapely figure clad in tight black leather knelt upon the bloodied floors of the penal colony shelter, eyes fixed on her as she performs the rite of _Absolutionem Imponebantur_ , a very old and suspiciously dark ritual that was adapted from a pagan cult into the Imperial cult itself.

Moments after Strikeforce Herald made planetfall upon Saint Josmane's Hope, the expected result of their arrival occurred. Thousands of crazed inmates, minds twisted by the warp, swarmed in from all sides. A safe landing zone was entirely impossible to find, and so they had to make their own landing.

The penal colony's defensive weaponry were turned against them, shooting down several of the transport ships, including Mercutio's own Valkyrie. The pilots were able to make a forced landing upon the living sector, undoubtedly overrun by those Violator cultists, and kept their precious cargo alive long enough to deploy into the field.

After that, things turned for the worse, as was the nature of this bleak future.

For when the inmates lacked for proper weaponse, they made up for it by numbers, as it was with the Orks. They overwhelmed Mercutio's regiment and forced the captain and the surviving guardsmen out of the crash site and into the deepest recesses of the Mining sector.

As they hunkered down in the shelter, exhausted immediately after the poorly executed landing, Mercutio inwardly hoped and prayed the Death Cult assassin would prove useful for once.

He did not have to wait too long, for the mere split second he averted his gaze, Silicia had already blended into the shadows away from the group and above the approaching mass. She rappelled across the overhanging cables and landed on top of them, moving like a blur with her deadly stilettoes outstretched.

Possessed with incredible speed and agility, the assassin weaved in and out of the fray, untouched by the enraged mob save for the blood and viscera that spurted out from open wounds! Silicia demonstrated that even without bioaugmentations or cybernetic enhancements, a human could attain such feats and more.

With the assassin carving a path for them, the guardmen of the Whiteshields regained their strength and will to fight, working hard to catch up with Silicia so they may regroup with the main force of Strikeforce Herald.

Horus ran his hand over the blade of his spear, finding himself unable to resist admiring the fine craftmanship of the weapon. He had his assumptions on whose work forged the great spear; one of his loyalist brother-primarchs, a trusted weaponsmith on Terra, or even a relic of mankind's glorious past- whose forgefather's name had been long forgotten. A spear- a symbol of leadership, it deserved to have a name. "You have served me well from the moment I was reborn." Horus spoke softly, "Together, we vanquished the daemons of Chaos and their champions. You have rent their souls from their bodies and gave the Ruinous Powers a taste of oblivion. For that, I shall name you…Soulrender."

Feeling sentimental, the penitent primarch rose to his full height and crossed the hydroponics deck. The _Golgo's Respite_ was a unique vessel, as he soon found. The Dauntless-class cruiser was noticeably more advanced than its sister-ships though remaining as ancient in its features as one would expect a vessel plucked from the relics of the past. Whereas the crew of old would rely on stockpiled rations in the hold, Cpt. Goodwill relied on the ancient practice of growing the crew's own food.

The hydroponics was a forest in itself, and the primarch found it peaceful when he stopped by to be immersed in his thoughts. Reflecting on his sins depressed him greatly, but he found hope in his involvement saving these worlds from the forces of evil, the comfort of the trees helped bring serenity to his otherwise troubled mind.

"What's the story behind the _Golgo's Respite_?" Aggregius asked Maranda, thoughts growing idle as he watched the crew work to bring the ship through Cadian space. "How did it earn its name?"

"It used to be called _The Respite_ , my lord." Maranda replied, "Back then, I was just a battle-commander with its former captain. Golgo was the name of the spacestation I grew up in and was trained by the Armada's Elite. When the dark eldar invaded the station, _The Respite_ was among the first to answer the call to defend it."

"And so you took the name from your home to honor it?"

"Yes." The captain nodded, "My liege was killed in the defense of Golgo when the xenos boarded us. It took almost a week before we regained control of the ship and liberated the station from its twisted captors. I swear, some of that blood still remains in the crags of some hall down the way."

"If you've lead your beleaguered fellows against the dark eldar, then I applaud your accomplishments, captain." Aggregius said, "You have indeed earned that rank you now hold."

The woman smiled, "You bring me great honor with your words, my lord." Her eyes stare straight into the unblinking stars of space, muttering to herself. "With the kind of family I was born into, I have a lot to live up to."

No one else but the transhuman heard the silent remark, yet Aggregius does not pursue it, choosing instead to divert his full attention to the next space battle taking place just a few short clicks from where the _Golgo's Respite_ hovered. It was another Imperial world, besieged by the forces of Chaos similarly to the ones that once plagued Agripinaa Prime.

The comms-officer opened the channel for the astropaths to detect incoming messages as well as vox-chatter so they'd have a semblance of an idea of what was going on. There were subtle bows of reverence as Horus entered the bridge, having spent the past three hours meditating in the gardens of the hydroponics bay. "My lord, we're detecting local transmissions from the penal colony. It would seem that the world has indeed fallen to the enemy's hands."

"What of these Imperial vessels laying in orbit?" Horus asked, "I've no desire to turn a blind eye to anyone who may need our aid. If the _Golgo's Respite_ and Battlegroup Imperatis are ready for combat, we must lend a hand as duty demands."

"I understand, my lord. But…" Maranda paused, recently notified that vox-transmissions from Cadia Prime had been re-established. "Standby, we are being hailed by Cadian High Command."

"Do what you must, captain." Horus gave his consent, prompting her to answer.

"This is Captain Maranda Goodwill of the _Golgo's Respite_ , Battlegroup Imperatis, to Cadian High Command." Maranda identified herself.

On the opposite end, the comms-officer stationed in the Imperial naval base where Strikeforce Herald was commissioned read the secured transmission of the battlegroup clearly, relaying it to his superiors as soon as he received it. _"This is Captain Maranda Goodwill, how copy?"_

"Solid copy, captain." The comms-officer saluted the Lord Castellan as he took over, addressing his beloved daughter for the first time in fifteen years. "Damn good to hear your voice amidst all this mess."

Her father's words warmed the captain's heart, and she smiled. "Likewise. I hear you've been appointed as Lord Castellan of all Cadia. I believe congratulations are in order?"

" _We can have that discussion another time."_ For the sake of all that lived in the segmentum, Ursarkar put aside the pleasantries and moved to work. _"First, you're going to tell me what you're doing this far into the sector."_

"We've received vox-chatter indicating the forces of Chaos have been terrorizing this part of the segmentum and received the call for aid. After dealing with those on our end, we headed straight for this sector, my lord."

" _Ah. I see that damned veil has finally been pierced."_ Ursarkar took it as small comfort that word had reached at least one battlegroup outside of Cadia Prime, whereas most interstellar communications have gone dark. _"Still, any help you can offer is greatly appreciated. Regroup with the main Cadian defense fleet as soon as possible and await further orders."_

Still not up to speed, Maranda inquired of the nature of the assignment. "If you don't mind me asking, my lord, what are we defending Cadia from?"

Seeing no harm in revealing his suspicions, Ursarkar gave voice to his concerns. His daughter was smart as a whip, she'll understand everything he has to say. _"These attacks were not done at random, I'm sure you know that by now. I fear these are merely the beginning of another Black Crusade."_

"Abaddon's here!?" Aggregius gasped.

The mere utterance of the name caused Horus' head to snap towards the two, face growing pale from recognition and horror, though kept safely hidden behind his helm. He had thought Ezekyll, his former first captain, had died alongside the traitors who perished in the Siege of Terra. He had not considered asking Aggregius of the fate of the corrupted champions, and it came as a surprise that the Sons of Horus, those he thought would be the first to fall when the Imperium came to collect, survived in the Warp all this time.

"What of Saint Josmane's Hope?" Maranda asked, "We're a few clicks away from lending a hand to the Imperial forces on its surface, my lord. Shall I assist, or immediately make headway for Cadia Prime?"

" _Saint Josmane's Hope's fate has been decided. It shall be consigned to an Exterminatus, but we're evacuating as many Imperial forces from its surface as much as we can. If you have the capability of extending a helpful hand, then you have my permission to assist. May the Emperor watch over you, my daughter."_

"Acknowledged. Stay strong, father." Maranda terminated the link and commanded her vessel forward.

"Little Maranda's all grown up." Jarran Kell chuckled, "Who would've thought that scrawny little lass would be commanding her own ship in the short span of fifteen years?"

"She got that determination from her mother, Emperor rest her soul." Ursarkar replied, "Come, my friend, let us see to the preparations. I want Cadia ready for the Despoiler should he pokes his ugly head out of the abyss."

"I've got a feeling he already has."

* * *

They were trapped, and they knew it. Back against the wall, amidst the desecrated corpses of the slain and gates barred securely against the howling host of daemon and traitor, the Strikeforce readied themselves for their imminent doom. Captain Mercutio yet again found himself the last commanding officer alive, having witnessed firsthand how quickly his liege astartes fell to the dreaded talons of the Violators, their bodies added to the growing pile to be sacrificed to the Dark Prince of the Warp.

Those that remained of the Space Wolves instructed them to proceed into the generatorium with the tech-priests to initiate the overload procedure, that their mission will not be in vain. The valiant astartes, bolter and chainswords ready to cleave and tear, steeled themselves for the approaching horde. The Violators did not give them long to wait, for they soon bore down on the loyalists like a swarm of locusts in harvest. As the tech-priests worked, Mercutio could hear the vox-grilled shouts and bolter fire of his lords as they bought the far weaker guardsmen the time they needed.

Once they've been given the room, the tech-priests fulfilled their purpose and worked to rouse the ancient engines to bring an end to Saint Josmane's Hope. Mercutio stood with the remainder of Strikeforce Herald, including the assassin Silicia, and waited for their enemies to burst through the doors.

Outside, the final Space Wolf made his last stand against the Violators, cutting down six of the demented traitor astartes before taking a fatal shot through the left eye. His head bursts open like a rotten tomatoes, corpse growing stiff as it fell back like a severed tree.

Shraga, leader of the Violators, approached the genatorium. With eyes grown purple from his time in the Warp, he watched the barred gates of the complex with an amused smirk upon his handsome face. The traitor then raised his halberd, an exquisite weapon decorated with a hundred diamonds, and fired a void shard that tore a hole through the generatorium's great doors.

Unbeknownst to the beasts clamoring for the deaths of Strikeforce Herald, the _Golgo's Respite_ had entered Saint Josmane's Hope's orbit. Horus had instructed the captain to pinpoint the local IFF of the Strikeforce so that he and Aggregius may teleport down upon the penal colony to assist them in their endeavors, to extract them from the doomed world if possible.

Though reluctant to deviate from their purpose, Cpt. Maranda adheres to her lord's command and prepared the way.

A bright flash of light burns a hole through reality in the middle of the battlegrounds where the Violators stood, and a group of well armed loyalist spacemarines stood where empty dirt once was. Horus and Aggregius, backed up by a small company of Blood Angels who had sworn to aid him back on Agripinaa Prime, cast their baleful glares upon the twisted creatures they had once called brothers.

Horus took one look at the bodies of the slain valiant Space Wolves and was filled with rage. The primarch hefted Soulrender and attacked the nearest Violator he could reach, splitting the astartes in half with a single swing of the godlike weapon. Shraga grinned and signalled his men to charge, breaking away from their initial quarry holed up in the genatorium complex and towards the new foe they faced today.

"Your armor will make a fine addition to my rack!" Shraga cackled, meeting the white-clad stranger in the middle of the clash with his bejeweled halberd. The lightspear strikes the Violator's weapon with such force that the resulting impact shakes the ground beneath their feet. "First you, then all of this world!"

"You talk too much." Horus remarked, totally unfazed by the madman's babbling. The primarch kicked the lesser astartes off him, throwing Shraga off balance, following swiftly to thrust Soulrender into the fallen one's stomach. The hallowed blade's edge tears through thick ceramite and fatally wounds Shraga. Blood bursts from the Violator's gashed flesh, and he screams as the Soulrender sets him aflame.

"Nooooo! Stop!" The Violator squealed, scared shitless upon feeling his dark patron abandon him in his hour of need. "I beg of you! Have mercy!" His cries of anguish ironically mirror those of his past victims, most of which were a few hours recent.

"There shall be none for you." Horus replied grimly, brutally wrenching the spear sideways in order to open the wound another jagged angle. The Violator burns from within his armor, then falls to nothing as his flesh turns to ashes.

Slaanesh, the foul Dark Prince of the Warp, was greatly displeased at the loss of one of his champions. Though a lesser champion compared to most, Shraga had gained his attention through his unique artistic mind that could even be on par with Fulgrim himself! That a wandering interloper such as Horus would dare to deny him his soul filled the Dark Prince with a rage so great that the veil suddenly thinned on Saint Josmane's Hope, allowing slaaneshi daemons to spill out of the Warp and attack Horus.

Daemonettes, lithe and beautiful, lunged at the young primarch with talons outstretched. They grab onto Horus and raked their claws against his armor, laughing playfully as he whirls around, attempting to shake them off. Aggregius, seeing his friend in trouble, pauses from fending off the Violators and aims his bolter at the daemonettes atop the Nameless Hero. Six short bursts of the trigger turns the luscious slaaneshi into mush, banishing them into the hellhole from which they came.

Horus shakes off the last one and crushes her head in his iron grip, taking a moment to recover from the attack. He turns to give Aggregius an appreciative nod, "Thank you, sergeant."

"I've got your back, brother."

Mercutio, hearing the battlecries of Imperial loyalists, found his brows furrowing in confusion. Has the Emperor heard of their plight and sent his angels to their aid?

"It is done!" One of the tech-priests cried, "Five minutes shall the clock race before this world's death is certain!"

"Duly noted, milord." Mercutio acknowledged.

Heavy footsteps echo across the wide room where the guardsmen stood as their saviors walked in. Amongst blood red clad ceramite armor, the Nameless Hero stood taller than any astartes. Mercutio could not help but kneel before him, followed by his fellow men as they beheld the man in white. "Thank you, my liege! We're it not for your intervention, we would have surely perished this day."

"I could not allow such noble soldiers of the Imperium die such an ignoble death so far I into this fallen world." Horus replied, his words becalming the hearts of the guardsmen. "The Emperor has need of you elsewhere, and I am here to ferry you over. Come, the _Golgo's Respite_ awaits!"

Together, the loyalists stood until the teleporter opened a rift in space that sucked them into the Imperial vessel orbiting Saint Josmane's Hope. Once done, Cpt. Marines wasted no time getting clear of the doomed world before it cracked in half. Horus took no pleasure in seeing so much go to waste, but knew it was necessary. He watched as the resulting shockwaves sing through the planet's surface, ultimately reducing it to a cluster of floating asteroids.

Silicia, having taken a great interest over the Nameless Hero due to the stench of death upon him, regarded him like a cat curious over its reflection upon a mirror. "You." She called to him, "The scent of a billion souls worth of deaths are upon you! Even more so than an astartes can accomplish in a thousand lifetimes! Who are you?"

Horus swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the assassin. But before he could address her vague accusations, Aggregius stepped in to defend his friend. "He is the Nameless Hero, savior of Agripinaa Prime and of the very ship you now stand in! I know him as my brother, friend and leader. But I do not know you, assassin! Now do away with your ingratitude before I throw you out the airlock!"

Horus heard his friend's defense and was ashamed, feeling he did not deserve this kind of devotion. "That is enough, sergeant. We all stand as allies here." He turned to Silicia, "Isn't that right, my lady?"

There was a long pause as the assassin considered his words, then she relents. "Of course…my lord."

Satisfied with her reply, Horus turned to give his latest command to the captain. ""Maranda, make a speedy headway for Cadia Prime. Tell High Command that Saint Josmane's Hope is no more and that Strikeforce Herald's mission was a success. Also, relay to the rest of the fleets in this system to regroup with Battlegroup Imperatis. I believe we have some refugees to drop off."

" _Acknowledged."_

"My lord, I am Cpt. Mercutio of the Whiteshields." Mercutio spoke to his liege, "You've saved me and my men from what would otherwise be a suicide mission. As the Emperor's my witness, I pledge myself and my men to your cause. I am at your command, sir."

There were grins and nods of approval from the Blood Angels as the guardsmen saluted their new commander. Horus could do little but to accept their pledge, choosing to value his allies' support, never letting himself take it all for granted.

Battlegroup Imperatis was growing with each passing day, a welcome change to the fates of other Imperial forces around them who seem to gladly plunge themselves blindly into meatgrinder, thereby reducing the number of formidable allies significantly.

Meanwhile, as the Imperium commits more and more of its resources to the defense of the Cadian Gate, the xeno Tau Empire used this opportunity to bolster their borders and even expand their ever-growing empire. With Imperial worlds falling to infighting or raids by the dark eldar, the populace could find no hope in trusting the Imperium with their safety- thereby happily switching their loyalties and embracing the doctrines of the Greater Good in exchange for security.

In turn, the tau were all too glad to welcome the oppressed humans with open arms, sheltering them from the coming storm.

The Emperor looks on in sadness, yet too with understanding, for he knew with the state his empire had become it was all too natural for mankind to seek relief in any form possible. In his eyes, if the tau would treat his people well, it was better than allowing them to be ensnared by the self-destructive influence of the Ruinous Powers.

 **}!{**

 **Thank you so much for your continued support of this fic, dear readers. I apologize if it takes a while, but I only work to deliver the best.**

 **Also, Crom'Torak. Don't worry, my daemonic friend, you have a purpose in the Lupercal's story. I might not use your suggestions, but trust that it will be somewhere along those lines. :)**


	10. The Dark Apostle

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Malin's Reach.

The Imperial loyalists had no idea what unspeakable horrors awaited them upon that system. It would have fared better had they been beset by a wandering band of khornate devotees. Instead, the people had to face the bloody wrath of Chaos on one hand, and the treacherous promises on the other- both extended by the self-styled Dark Apostle Erebus of the Wordbearers!

The traitor, responsible for twisting the Warmaster's decisions through deception some millennia ago, allied himself with the Despoiler for the sole purpose of spreading the teachings of the Ruinous Powers.

The world of Malin's Reach, a peaceful planet dedicated to the finest cathedrals and places of worship, had been under the protection of a detachment of Ultramarines Honour Guard- upon news reaching them of the appearance of the Dark Apostle. Alas, Erebus was craftier than anyone suspected, for the Dark Apostle staged an elaborate trap upon a neighboring planet, thereby luring the spacemarines out of Malin's Reach and leaving it to the wrath of the Wordbearers.

Yet, even in the chaos of the war upon the Gate, where billions of fervent prayers reached the Emperor upon his Golden Throne, the benevolent ruler heard one little girl's plea for salvation just as the nightmares of the Warp descended upon the minds of the faithful. Erebus favored letting dreams and portents herald his coming, which proved to be his one flaw- hubris, which had caused many a man—mighty or otherwise—to fall. In his case, the Emperor sent a vision to his son leading Battlegroup Imperatis.

" _ **My son. The Dark Apostle approaches, go to Malin's Reach and save your people."**_

Horus smiled, feeling comforted that his father was with him. "I shall do as you ask, my Emperor." He rose up and headed for the bridge, intent on relaying his message to the captain so that they may head for the besieged world to save it. Upon arrival, however, he chanced upon Maranda engaged in conversation with the Lord Castellan of Cadia.

"My lord!" The captain exclaimed, "Ah, we were just talking about you."

"All good things, I hope?" Horus asked.

"But of course, lord! Why wouldn't it be?"

" _Do not sugarcoat it, captain."_ Ursarkar Creed chided his daughter gruffly, _"Sir, I don't know who you are or by what power you entitle yourself to command my forces. Though your work on Saint Josmane's Hope is to be congratulated, I must address also the recklessness of your actions here and now- for I have no patience for that sort of thing especially in a time such as this!"_

Calmly, the Nameless Hero replied. "Forgive me if they seem so bold as actions, Lord Castellan. But I merely acted as any good servant of the Imperium would. I saw a chance to save your men, and I took it without hesitation. I see no wrong in what I have done, why should you be angry?"

Ursarkar scowled, _"Let me put it this way- those were my troops to command! I would not have my forces endangered nor my orders belayed by some stranger with no Chapter to call his own and holds no rank whatsoever that states he is far more superior to the High Castellan! You may be an astartes, but that does not entitle you to everything- do I make myself clear?"_

Horus understood the man's reaction, and most of it were actually true and justified. He could make the argument that by being the Emperor's scion, he had all the command power he needed. Then again, Horus also took into account that just about everyone says that these days. "Yes, Lord Castellan."

Satisfied that he got his point across, Ursarkar turned to the captain. _"Good. Maranda, I expect your Battlegroup to rejoin the defense fleets on Cadia Prime within twenty-four hours. The Despoiler's Armada has been sighted in the Belis Corona. See to your ship's outfitting and repairs and be ready for further orders. Creed out."_

Horus looked out the window to see bright flashes in the void of space, final throes of dying worlds shattered by Abaddon's flagship. They had a chance to deal a serious blow to Chaos by ridding them of Erebus, who had done mankind so much grief. Yet, Lord Castellan Creed was right in focusing all his efforts to halt the Despoiler's advance, blinding him to the other threats pressing from other ends. The work of a commander was hard- he knew it from experience.

"My lord, forgive my father for his harsh words." Maranda began.

"No, captain." Horus stopped her, "The Lord Castellan has his mind set in the right place. We cannot allow Abaddon to bring the war to Cadia Prime. You do not need my permission to obey his commands. You know your duty."

"But milord, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Maranda asked as the Nameless Hero turned to leave.

Horus obliges, sparing no detail- including his vision from the Emperor. The news worried the woman, and it showed in her weary face. "Throne of Terra! We cannot let the Dark Apostle visit his wrath upon those innocents!"

"Aye, we cannot." Horus nodded, "Yet you cannot abandon the defense fleets heading for Belis Corona either. That errand holds just as much weight, but is what your father commanded you to undertake."

Seeing the dilemma, Maranda felt powerless to decide which of the two choices was more noble than the other. Shall they endeavor to save one world, or a thousand? "My lord. I don't know what to do."

Horus chuckled softly, absent humor. "Yes, you do. Let not your heart be troubled, my friend. Allow me to shoulder that burden."

"What do you mean, milord?"

"Give me one of your ships." Horus suggested, "It doesn't have to be one of the large ones. Just one fast enough to get me to Malin's Reach. I shall handle the Dark Apostle, while you do battle alongside the defense fleets in Belis Corona. That way, we save one world and a thousand."

Maranda was amazed at the wisdom of the Nameless Hero, and she found herself feel deep admiration for her liege. Contrary to her father's opinion, here was a man born of leadership- regardless of his lack of identity. It caused her to wonder what grave transgression he committed against the Emperor could drive him to this level of self-flagellation. "Then, I guess this is where we part ways."

Horus nodded again, "We will see each other again, captain. Remember, the war does not end here."

"Of that, I am certain." Maranda reached out to grasp the taller man's forearm. Horus took the gesture of friendship well and extended his own, careful not to crush the woman's arm as he did so. "I wish you well on your journeys, my lord. Emperor keep you."

"Likewise, captain."

* * *

Yaasha trembled until her scrawny legs gave out from under her. The child dropped to the ground and hugged her Celestine doll close to her chest, weeping silent tears as the crimson giants stomped towards her.

Her father was killed an hour ago, body defiled and marked with strange runes before it was nailed to the door of the town cathedral. Along with the desecrated corpse were seven others, nailed in an odd circle that resembled an eight-pointed star.

The sight was most gruesome, and Yaasha could not bear to look.

"Mama! Mama!"

It was useless to call, she knew her mother was dead. Everyone she knew was dead and dying, butchered and sacrificed to these heathens. All the little girl could do now is pray for deliverance, and so pray she did.

"Emperor." She whispered softly, "Help me! Please!"

The bloodied sword of the Wordbearer traitor astartes was raised to strike the mewling child, but was stopped when a powerful voice spoke out.

"Hold!"

The spacemarine pauses, then follows as commanded, making way for the Dark Apostle as he strode towards the child. "Every soul is precious to the Dark Gods, brother, never forget that." The child cries piteously as large hands reached down to pick her up from the dirt. She squeaks, covering her eyes as a face- marred by centuries in the Warp and overlayed with daemonic runes- comes close to her own. "This one will prove useful as one of our witch neophytes."

"Please, don't hurt me!"

"Come now, little one." The giant's voice was surprisingly soothing, and it calmed the badly frightened toddler. "You are safe with us now. A pity we had to kill your family, but you must understand, they refused to heed the call of the Ruinous Powers. You won't make that mistake, am I right?"

Unable to give any answer other than affirmation, the young one bobs her head and dries her tears. Erebus smiled. This was by far the easiest task he had accomplished for his masters, turning an entire world into a sacrificial altar for the Dark Gods.

"Ibrium is ours!" He declared, flexing his forefinger and dipping it in blood. With this, he drew an eight-pointed star upon the girl's forehead, marking her as one of them. Upon seeing the Dark Apostle carrying a representation of the world they defiled, marked and obedient, they let loose a chorus of jubilant cries and howls in praise for their victory.

Suddenly, through the blood-red skies of the abandoned world, a ray of light shot out from the darkened clouds, slamming into the ground outside the blasphemous cathedral- now dedicated to the forces of Chaos. The Wordbearers rallied together around the crater it had formed, enslaved locals gathered at the edges of their cages to watch, and the newcomers emerged.

"I didn't know that spear can do that." Aggregius muttered quietly to his friend, readying his bolter. He eyed the traitor marines with indescribable contempt and fixed his finger upon the trigger.

"Neither did I." Horus acknowledged, "Seems like my...I mean, our father, has put everything I could possibly need for my quest."

Erebus blinked twice, then set the child down. "Finally, I was getting bored." With a wave of his hand to set the dogs of war loose, the Wordbearers descended upon the servants of the Imperium. Bolter and sword were set on each other, blood flowed like a raging river that greatly pleased the Blood God as the demigods battled upon Ibrium's ruined earth.

Horus slammed his spear down upon the crater's surface, channeling a powerful psionic shield that protected his battle-brothers from the hailstorm of bolter rounds. His eyes narrowed when it fell upon the Dark Apostle. The armor had changed from the long span of a millennia, but the face remained the same. The former chaplain of the Wordbearers, who had tricked him into falling to Chaos' hands, was here! His quest for redemption was made ever more sure, now that he would be rewarded with righteous vindication.

"Erebus!" Horus roared, dropping the shield in time to let his brothers advance from the pit. His booming voice surprised Aggregius, having grown accustomed to the Nameless Hero's quiet demeanor. Still waters run deep, apparently.

The Dark Apostle raised an eyebrow, hefting his eight-pointed mace in one hand and a chainsword in the other. "Who calls for me?" His amused smirk grew as the white-clad stranger challenges him to a duel amidst all the fighting. Yaasha cowers behind a fallen pillar, watching with fearful eyes as the vengeful giant met the Dark Apostle with a force enough to shake the mountains.

"You wounded me with your treachery!" Horus growled, bringing down Soulrender upon Erebus, who swiftly caught the weapon in between the mace and chainsword. Horus would reveal his identity for a moment, for the selfish satisfaction of seeing the recognition in the traitor's face before he destroys him forever.

"I have betrayed many in my lifetime." Erebus shrugged nonchalantly, "Should I remember you?"

Horus tackled the smaller marine down, swiping his spear in a clean sweep that bore through the Dark Apostle's greaves. The traitor grunted in pain, anger compelling him to strike back. Horus moved with blinding agility, the likes of which could not be foreseen given his tenacity. "I was the first!"

Erebus frowned at this as he parried and exchanged blows with the stranger. What could he mean by that?

Distracted by the Nameless Hero's words, the Dark Apostle did not move quickly enough to stop the enraged astartes from driving Soulrender upwards, catching his arm above the elbow and slicing it off!

Blood flowed from the stump, and Erebus staggered back, calling for his Wordbearers to his aid. "Protect me, brothers!" He limps back as the raptors descended from the spires atop the tainted cathedral, engaging the primarch in the melee while Erebus makes for the chapel.

Horus was not to be stopped. He destroys the assault marines with three powerful swings, denying the Warp its due as the souls burned away. Khorne watched from his throne of skulls as the Lupercal makes his way into the cathedral, vengeance burning bright in his righteous heart. He smiled, approving the blood shed in his name, whether the loyalists were aware or otherwise.

Horus followed the bloodtrail into the innermost sanctum of the cathedral, ignoring the revolting scenes of gore upon the altars and walls there. The mere presence of the hallowed primarch burned away the corruption upon the floor he stepped on, but the only corruption he wished to purge at the moment was the traitor chaplain. For too long had the man walked the galaxy. No more, not a single minute shall he be spared.

Erebus staggered into the sanctum, propping himself against the shattered altar in the center that used to be dedicated to the Great Anathema. The painted glass depicting the Emperor and his angels stared down in silence at the confrontation. Erebus refused to own his fate, arguing that he had so much more to offer- so much opportunities that will be wasted if his patrons would not save him now.

"Khorne! Slaanesh!" Erebus called upon his gods, a move ironically reminiscent of the child he sought to corrupt earlier. "Tzeentch! Nurgle! Help me, I pray! Deliver me from this stranger! I have given so much to you, I deserve this!"

"Pray all you want, you are wasting your breath." The Nameless Hero entered the chapel, gleaming spear in hand and ready to dispense justice. "The Chaos Gods are not here to help you. You're just a speck of dust, inconsequential to them. If they wanted to aid you, they would have done so by now. Believe me, I know."

"Who are you?!" Erebus cried out in despair, denying that his end was near.

"I am Horus Lupercal!"

The Dark Apostle's eyes widened in fear. All of time seemed to slow to a crawl as his mind digested this revelation. He could see the Soulrender drive ever closely to his chest, he could see behind the helm- the face of the Wolf of Terra. Then, he felt the burn, that agonizing sensation of body and soul being wiped clean from reality. Erebus screamed, falling backwards into the altar as the force of the strike drives him off balance. He falls with a loud crash as his body collides with the shattered pedestal, and his pain doubled- tripled even! Horus willed the weapon to make the punishment as slow as possible, venting a thousand years worth of treacheries upon the Dark Apostle.

"Please...noooo..." The voice fades as the flames ate away the fallen one.

Horus stepped back from the ceramite shell that housed ashes and plucked the spear from the Dark Apostle's remains. His chest heaved from an unseen burden, and his eyes still burned with the same fury that sustained him all day. He had his revenge for one of the traitors, and saved Ibrium. There were more to liberate, he knew it, the war was not over.

As he turned to leave the chapel, he froze upon seeing Sgt. Aggregius standing atop the steps leading to the doors. His helmet was gone, perhaps shattered in the fighting outside, face revealed to display the absolute horror in his countenance. His mouth was open, but the words refused to come.

He had heard the exchange, there was no doubt about it. There were two things on the sergeant's mind as he absorbed all this; how could Horus Lupercal be alive, and if so- how the hell does anyone know of his allegiances if he strikes with holy fire and bearing the Emperor's Will?

Horus was the first to break the silence, "Ibrium is saved. Our work here is done."

As he approached the sergeant, the bolter was suddenly raised to meet the primarch's face. Aggregius was torn between duty and passion. On one hand; duty compels him to gauge the situation properly before acting, on the other; his passion drove him to attacking the Archtraitor there and then!

"Stay back, traitor!"

Horus knew it was a matter of time before this confrontation would happen. But regardless how the sergeant reacts, Horus would not allow anything to stop him from carrying out his quest. Too much hung in the balance, "Sergeant, put that weapon down. I do not stand as an enemy."

"You _are_ the enemy!" Aggregius roared, feeling betrayed over the deception.

"Am I?" Horus reached up and took of his helm, showing his youthful face to the livid spacemarine. "Look into my eyes, brother. Do you see them as those belonging to a servant of the Ruinous Powers?"

"Looks can be deceiving, of that I am most certain!" Aggregius became more and more convinced it was better to pull the trigger now and be done with it. Yet, some voice in the back of his head told him not to. "Why should I trust you after the lies you spouted!? Did you think so little of our friendship that you would cast all honesty aside!?"

Horus shook his head, calmly reminding the sergeant. "I did not lie to you, Aggregius. I simply with-held my name, but my intentions were all benevolent- I assure you. Think about it, have I not done all in the service of the Imperium- just as I said? I forsook my name for I had to redeem myself. Whether that is for a short time or eternity, I don't know or care. But please, don't do this. Permit me to lead you, so I may save Cadia from the Despoiler."

There was a long silence shared between the two.

Soon, Aggregius makes his decision, and lowers his gun. Horus sighed with relief, "Thank you, my frie-

In a flash, the bolter strikes the primarch across the face, breaking his nose and spilling droplets of blood all over the floor. Horus shakes of the pain and looks up in surprise. Aggregius' scowl was still there, but he accepted the penitent primarch's apology, opting to follow duty over passion. "I just needed to see if you bleed. What bleeds may die. Remember this moment, Horus, even a lesser astartes can kill you."

Horus nodded and followed the sergeant out.

 **}!{**

 **Updates are going to be a little slower now that my PC's unavailable. I'll try to write as much as I can from my phone ( very inconvenient, but necessary ). As always, thank you so much for the continued support of this fic.**


	11. Cadia Stands

**A/N Sorry for the delay, dear readers. It took a while, some rewriting here and there, but I've finally got it!** **The Cadian Assault's drawing to a close, and the real test of Horus' resolve is underway. Please enjoy!**

 **}!{**

The _Golgo's Respite_ gives a shudder as another clump of debris scrapes the port side of the battlescarred and tested vessel. The defense of Belis Corona was a failure, for lack of a better term. For all the efforts, the combined might of all Battlegroups, the enemy proved too strong for Cadia's valiant defenders.

"Damage report!" Maranda yelled after the shock of losing so many comrades within the short period of two hours had worn off. Her mood only soured with each answer that came from her crew. _Golgo's Respite_ wasn't going anywhere.

She, and no doubt everyone else on Battlegroup Imperatis, thought that their front would have at least lasted a bit longer against the tide of Chaos. As it turned out, the Despoiler himself spearheaded the assault on Belis Corona, putting whole worlds to the torch as he made a haste for Cadia Prime. They had not anticipated such a twist, and it proved to be their undoing.

Maranda could only look on in horror as the _Planetkiller_ laid waste to both world and Imperial vessel around her, turning the sector into a solar wasteland filled with the remains of the battlefleet and neighboring worlds as testament to the Despoiler's might.

"Captain, it's headed right for us!"

The shadow of the Despoiler's flagship loomed over the _Golgo's Respite_ , never once turning a baleful eye in its direction as it barrels past the smaller vessel. Rendered a derelict as a result of the last battle, Maranda's beloved ship was unable to move out of the _Planetkiller's_ path, and so it suffered one last blow that fractured it in two.

Emergency sealants covered the breach in the _Golgo's Respite's_ hull, stabilizing the bridge and its remaining decks before the artificial environment could collapse.

Maranda Goodwill sank in her chair and covered her face with her hands, unable to bear the crushing feeling of defeat as the final vox-screams of her friends and battlebrothers echoed in her mind.

Onboard the _Planetkiller_ , Abaddon glared across the vastness of space, eyes fixed on his prize that lay just beyond the mustered forces of the battered loyalist armies. He would wait no longer. No more convoluted plots, no more delays as he had done twelve times before. He was stronger than ever, perhaps even more than those twelve times combined! Even the pathetic attempts of the corpse Emperor of bringing in the Horus clone into his Black Crusade cannot stop him from claiming Cadia!

His fleet of voidships, immeasureable in the nature unseen since the great space-wars of the Gothic campaign, streaked past whole fortress worlds and astartes battle-barge blockades like they were nothing. Nova cannons reduced everything to burning wreckage just as the assault on Belis Corona ended up, his flagship shattered planets down to their cores, Abaddon left a very obvious trail of death and destruction in his wake.

Yet, in his haste to grasp his claws around Cadia Prime, Abaddon neglected to snuff out every ship in every confrontation, such as the _Golgo's Respite_. Those that survived the encounters with the Despoiler rallied together and regrouped under the banner of Battlegroup Imperatis.

Horus had just returned from his brief campaign on Malin's Reach and rejoined the exhausted Captain Maranda at Jorha's Point, a junction separating Belis Corona from the direct route into Cadia Prime. By the time he got there, Battlegroup Imperatis has increased its fleet size from fifty strong to two hundred, all loyalist vessels with an axe to grind against the Despoiler for the destruction of their homeworlds.

"My liege, your arrival is a balm upon our wounds!" Maranda heaved a sigh of relief as Horus stepped inside the cracked bridge of the _Golgo's Respite_. "Is it true? The Dark Apostle now lies dead?"

"Yes, captain." Horus answered. "But even with Erebus out of the way, a greater danger stands before us. I heard you've all had a taste of Abaddon's wrath?"

By now, all eyes looked to Goodwill for guidance. And since the woman looked to the Nameless Hero for guidance herself, by default all eyes turned to Horus for leadership.

"The Despoiler marches closer to Cadia as we speak!" Maranda answered, barely containing the rage and anguish smoldering within her heart. "We're gathered here now under your banner, Nameless Hero. Guide our hands, that we may strike at the enemy while his hubris still blinds him!"

* * *

At an unseen signal, bright sparks marred the brooding silhouettes of the Black Fleet. With a thunderous roar, the first bombardment wave hammered past the descending drop-ships - heralds of death for the slaughter to come.

The bedrock of Cadia Secundus, already battered from the first invasion by the Forces of Chaos, churned anew beneath a storm of Macrocannons, Melta Torpedoes and hellfire. Void Shields buckled under the implacable storm, Skyshields crackled. Some held, others collapsed in bursts of brilliant light, secondary explosions coming close behind as the barrage swept the stones behind clean of life.

Outbound fire blazed from the bastions of Kasr Kraf, the fortress' Defence Lasers and Skyfire batteries scouring the heavens for incoming drop-ships. Most fired blind, but accuracy mattered little - the Despoiler's forces swarmed like flies come to a feast.

West of Kasr Kraf, the macro batteries of Kasr Stark roared one last time, the bellow of the guns consumed by a deafening thunder-crack as a Melta Torpedo pierced the subterranean magazine. To the north, the wreck of the Sword of Defiance roared a broadside into the skies, the spread of cannon-fire destroying a skull-prowed drop-ship and sending its Heldrake escorts pinwheeling away. Valkyrie gunships of Clavin Strekka's Howling 119th Regiment screamed into pre-arranged clear-fire corridors between salvoes, then broke away across the furious skies, braving fire and counterfire as they hunted their prey. Across the redoubts of Cadia Secundus, anxious hearts prayed that the foe's nerve would break, that the siege would be won in the skies and not upon the walls of Kasr Kraf and its outliers.

Such was a vain hope. The drop-ships were too many, and the defences too few. The southernmost spur of Kasr Kraf's Martyr's Rampart shattered as its Void Shields failed. Fresh salvoes crashed home to exploit the weakness, unseating guns the size of hab-blocks and burying hundreds beneath charred rubble. Creed saw the destruction, and sent orders for the survivors to withdraw. Kasr Kraf yet had three unbreached and thinly-defended curtain walls about its central keep. There was no sense in losing lives in a wasteland when fortifications cried out for defenders.

At once, the Cadian defenders abandoned the Martyr's Rampart, risking the bombardment's fury to reach the comparative shelter of Kasr Kraf. Fortune abandoned hundreds in that hour. Soon the churned field between the southern rampart and first curtain wall was a field of smouldering wrecks and scorched corpses. But for every stalwart soul who perished, another four reached the outer curtain. Officers bellowed instructions, and the survivors rallied to fresh defences. Only the Black Templars made no move to retreat. Marshal Amalrich spat on Creed's orders. He had chosen his ground, and would defend it to the last.

As the drop-ships closed for final approach, their Heldrake escorts peeled away, strafing the ramparts of Kasr Kraf and the makeshift redoubts of the Shrine of Saint Morrican. A new sound filled the air - a shrill wail like sinners burning in the fires of damnation, but multiplied ten thousand times over. Seconds later, the first Dreadclaw slammed onto the walls of Kasr Kraf. Ramps crashed down, disgorging warriors of the Word Bearers and the Alpha Legion into the heart of Creed's defences. At first, the massed volleys of the Astra Militarum defenders drove the invaders back. But then blasphemous icons rose high into air choked with smoke and dying screams. The fabric of reality cracked, and howling daemons joined the fray.

Everywhere the tale was the same, the roar of Traitors' Bolters joined by the bellowed battle-cries of blood-slicked daemonkin. Gun emplacements fell from within even as they traded fire with the foe, their defenders torn apart by hellblade and claw. Some platoons, stricken with terror, threw down their arms and fled. Most fought and died to the last, urged on by the fiery sermons of their Adeptus Ministorum priests, their resolve stiffened by the certainty that there was no escape in this hour. In that bloody charnel, a soldier's only freedom was to choose how he died; most clutched their weapons tight, and met their doom with defiance.

Nowhere in that initial onslaught was the fighting harder than the Shrine of Saint Morrican. The tang of the Sisters of Battle's faith was both irresistible and anathema to the rampant daemons, and the lure of it goaded them time and again onto that ground. But alone perhaps of those who fought that day, the Order of Our Martyred Lady never wavered, never took a backward step. Under the twin gazes of Canonesses Genevieve and Eleanor, they met the yowling horde with Bolter and holy flame, driving all taint from the walls of the shrine. For those who watched the embattled walls of Kasr Kraf, it seemed that the smoke-spume of war found no purchase on the Shrine of Saint Morrican, driven back by the golden light dancing about its spires.

To the east, the first landing craft touched down in the cratered valleys. Daemon-possessed war engines rumbled across the broken ground, driving hard for Kasr Kraf's eastern curtain walls. Battle Cannons roared from concealed emplacements as the tanks of the Cadian 252nd opened fire. The Black Legion spearhead disintegrated in a tangled mass of metal and corrupted flesh, but theirs was a tide without end. Chaos Baneblades rumbled on, their treads crushing the wreckage of their forerunners, their shells hammering at the curtain wall. With a mighty rumble, the eastern outer wall partially collapsed, the rubble crushing three squadrons of Leman Russ Tanks. Their growling engines drowning out the roars of victory, a swarm of skull-bedecked Chaos Rhinos broke cover from behind the mighty Baneblades and drove hard for the newly-formed breach.

Far to the north, the patchwork defences of Kasr Jark shuddered beneath the shell-fire of an Iron Warriors siege battery upon the Kolarak Plains. Unwilling to wallow behind the walls, Orven Highfell ordered his brothers to their transports. Warsmith Krom Gat had come prepared for a counter-assault, having fortified his position with drop-bastions and lines of cursed aegis designed to slow any attacker long enough to bring the big guns to bear. But caution had never been Highfell's way, and no spawn of the daemon-forges would stay the fury of the Fenris-born. Sweeping aside all in their path, the Ironwolves descended into Krom Gat's citadel, using its own trenches and bastions as cover against the raging artillery.

* * *

"The gates are sealed, Lord Castellan."

Creed waved the lieutenant away from the topographic hologrid - the only source of light in the gloomy bunker. He didn't know the man's name. He didn't expect either of them would live long enough for it to be worth the effort. Six solar months, that had always been the joke of the 8th. If you survived six solar months under his command, then General Creed would trouble himself to learn your name.

The siege went poorly, and yet as well as could be expected at the same time. In his pride, Abaddon sought to humble Cadia once and for all, even though it would cost him dearly. But were the two of them so different, in that regard? Pride would not allow Abaddon to pass on by, just as it had prevented Creed from yielding Cadia in the face of insuperable odds.

And then there was the matter of the null-array, buried beneath the command bastion. Whoever had stabilised it had brought Cadia these precious days. But who, and why? Magos Klarn either didn't know, or wasn't saying. Kasrkin search parties had scoured the tunnels, but to no result. Creed supposed he should be grateful, but the knowledge that some outside force had free reign of his fortress made his skin crawl. Faith of any kind no longer came easily to the Lord Castellan. Kell understood, of course. But the others?

No matter. Hope was a self-sustaining fire. Maintain the illusion long enough, and it would become the truth. And maybe, just maybe, Cadia would defy the Despoiler just one more time...

Creed turned his back on the hologrid. "Lieutenant? Your name, what is it?"

The young man's brow wrinkled in surprise. Surprise, and perhaps a little worry. "Kormachen, sir. Of the 88th."

Creed nodded. "Walk with me, Kormachen. It's past time I saw this battle with my own eyes."

The seventh solar day of the siege of Cadia Secundus opened with the roar of a new bombardment. Too long had the Sword of Defiance stood vigil over Kasr Kraf's northern flank, and now the invaders took steps to silence its guns once and for all. Shell after shell rained down, pulverising the downed Cruiser and unseating its few remaining guns. Even then, Korahael would have held firm, for no Scion of Caliban yields his ground willingly. But this was no ordinary bombardment - it hailed from the diseased bulk of the Terminus Est, flagship of Typhus. Each shell that burst amidst the Sword's hallowed halls brought with it unspeakable contagion - diseases potent enough to take root even in the augmented flesh of the Adeptus Astartes. With his brothers liquefying inside their armour, Korahael had no choice but to abandon the Sword of Defiance. Alas, the plains still teemed with World Eaters, hungry to spill the Lion's blood.

Faith yet burned bright at the Shrine of Saint Morrican, but mortal might grew ever shorter in supply. That outpost alone had seen unremitting assault since the opening days of the siege, and all inside were bone-weary. The basilica had cowed assaults it had never been intended to face, but even for blessed redoubts there comes a breaking point. For the Shrine of Saint Morrican, that breaking point took the form of three Lords of Skulls, unleashed from the heart of Abaddon's own daemon-forges to overcome the shining beacon of faith. Warp-crafted cannons belched and roared, drowning the stones of the sainted basilica in boiling blood. Scores of Battle-Sisters boiled alive in their armour, dozens more were swept away. Still the Daemon Engines ground on, bones and rubble alike crunched to dust beneath their leviathan tracks.

* * *

When the Kriegan Gates came down, the defence of Cadia fell upon the shoulders of the Kasrkin. Creed had kept three Kasrkin regiments in reserve throughout the fighting, husbanded for a desperate hour such as this. Now he sent them to hold the line. Lasguns flared. The ruined Kriegan barbican vanished beneath the acrid discharge of cannon shells. The leading edge of the Hounds of Abaddon vanished, torn apart by the greatest single volley yet seen on Cadia Secundus.

Yet the Hounds were undismayed by their losses - indeed, the slaughter lent them new fervour. The survivors struck the massed line of bayonets like a red wind, clawing at the wall of armoured flesh without thought for their own lives. Urkanthos led them, each swipe of his claws snatching a squad into Khorne's bloody embrace. With every foe that fell, the Daemon Prince felt the Blood God's blessings blossom. His armour-fused flesh thickened until it was harder than adamantium. As blood slicked across his wounds, they scabbed and closed. Urkanthos looked upon the massed ranks of Kasrkin and saw not a foe to be bested, but a banquet, an offering in the making to the only true God of Bloodshed.

The Kasrkin battled on beneath the ruin of Kasr Kraf's gates, but they did not fight alone. Creed's barked orders echoed from Vox-casters set across the fortress walls, sending ever more men into the meatgrinder at the gates. Conscripts of the 201st Cadian Regiment fought and died alongside the grizzled veterans of the 9th Cadian. Regiments from Mordia and Vostroya entered the slaughter, fighting for a world not their own, as was so often the duty of the Astra Militarum.

But numbers alone could not win out against the Hounds' daemon-spawned might. Worse, Urkanthos had reinforcements of his own. Slavering daemons emerged from the pooling blood, then sprang forth to further slick the stones. Maddened Cultists, ebon-clad Black Legionaries, hell-wrought behemoths - they stormed across the ruined gates, seizing the opportunity to slaughter, and to perhaps catch the restless eyes of the Dark Gods.

The Kasrkin of the 2nd Cadian perished where they stood. Not a man amongst them gave ground. Others were not so valorous. The discipline of the 33rd Cadian shattered when their colonel was torn apart by Raptors. Wavering hearts turned callow. Like a dam giving way before storm waters, the 33rd broke and ran. With them went all hopes of holding the gateway, and their cowardly example sapped the valour from their comrades as surely as a daemon's roar. The trickle of the 33rd's rout became a flood as panic spread. Regimental colours were abandoned and weapons cast down. What had once been a bastion of defiance had split asunder, and Urkanthos' victory lay within his taloned grasp.

Even as the heart of Kasr Kraf wavered, old perils were renewed. Beyond the eastern wall, Baroness Vardus' Knights fought a losing duel with the surviving Titans of the Legio Vulcanum. Though the God-machines could no longer draw upon Princeps Tiron's direction, their firepower greatly outstripped that at the command of the Nobles of House Raven.

Vardus was no fool - indeed, she'd slain men in duels for even hinting such was true - and commanded a fighting retreat. Thus far, it had served her well, costing her only four brother Nobles in exchange for one Traitor Reaver destroyed, and another crippled. Yet a fighting retreat required ground to retreat to, and the Knights of House Raven were rapidly running out of room to manoeuvre. As the weary baroness ordered yet another withdrawal, her lance-mate disintegrated in an eruption of superheated light. Hurried interrogation of her synapse-web confirmed Vardus' greatest fear - Vessel of Damnation had rejoined the fray.

Further south, knee-deep in the bodies of his foes, Marshal Amalrich experienced an uncharacteristic moment of doubt. Foes still offered their lives up to the Black Templars' positions, but no longer in the numbers that had graced previous days. Gazing north, Amalrich recognised the storm gathering over Kasr Kraf's Kriegan Gates. At last, the Marshal acknowledged what had been obvious to his peers from the first - that the Black Templars' strength would have been better employed upon the walls of the fortress than at the Martyr's Rampart. Even generations after the fact, the stubbornness of Rogal Dorn still haunted his inheritors. But perhaps there was yet time to unmake the error. One of the Cruxis Crusade's Thunderhawks had been destroyed during the opening bombardment, but the other endured, untouched in a subterranean hangar. Swallowing the last of his pride, Amalrich gave orders to abandon the Martyr's Rampart.

At Kasr Kraf, the Hounds of Abaddon slaked their blades and thirsts upon the routing Guardsmen. Urkanthos bellowed with delight. He had been given one task, and one task alone: breach the fortress and destroy the machine that held the Will of Eternity's fury in abeyance. But now the Scourgemaster saw no reason to stop at such half-measures. Proud Cadia had broken. Its defenders trampled one another in their eagerness to flee his coming! He, Urkanthos, would do what Abaddon never had. He would shatter the last resolve of the Fortress World. The rewards of triumph would be his, and not the Warmaster of Chaos'.

A volley seared the air, its fury hot enough for the Daemon Prince to feel through his calloused skin. Where moments before there had been only a fleeing rabble, now the Hounds of Abaddon faced a manned aegis line, formed bayonets, and the unwavering ranks of the Cadian 8th Regiment.

Urkanthos' assault, grown overconfident in slaughter, burst against the breakwater of the Cadian 8th. The Hounds of Abaddon bore the brunt, torn to scraps by roiling cannon-fire. Raptors took to the air, seeking to pluck Creed from his command as they had the erstwhile colonel of the 33rd. Vox-amplifiers wailing, they ripped deep into Creed's platoon. But where the 33rd had broken and fled, the veterans of the 8th closed ranks. Scores perished before a bayonet rammed into the final Raptor's primary heart, but Creed was not amongst them. Kell's sleeve was crimson with blood, little of it his own, and dead at his feet lay the Raptor who'd come closest to laying low his beloved general.

The battle for the muster field stalled, both sides yet with numbers unbound to hurl into the battle, but neither able to gain traction over the foe. But the advantage at last lay again with the defenders, for Creed fought like a man whose hour had at last come. He never once laid hand on pistol nor blade. Instead, he wielded his soldiers as his weapon, striking hard for a weakness when it presented, and drawing back in the face of overwhelming odds. Hundreds, thousands of lives he spent in those desperate hours, though never carelessly. He bought time with the blood of his Shock Troopers - not in the hope that help would arrive, for Creed had long since abandoned such fancies, but because every moment of defiance was now a prize without price, a wound to Abaddon's pride. Cadia stood, it was true, but only because Creed stood with it.

Around the fortress, Creed's allies lent what aid they could. Korahael's dwindled 4th Company fought beside the Ironwolves in the muster field's eastern extent and, though neither party would ever acknowledge as much, each was the salvation of the other on many occasions. The Astartes of other Chapters, their Battle-Brothers lost to the Cadian wars, set aside rivalries, forming a single demi-company of every colour and hue. The Sisters of Our Martyred Lady marshalled before the command bastion, their holy flames the bane of many a daemon, their righteous presence instilling fresh valour in the Conscripts of the 111th Cadian, deployed immediately to their fore.

But the greatest triumph in that hour belonged to Marshal Amalrich's Black Templars. Their Thunderhawk, hull smouldering and crippled engines belching smoke, ploughed into the muster field, disgorging the vengeful warriors of the Cruxis Crusade into the heart of the heretical foe. Each blow struck by a Son of Dorn that day was one of penance as much as fury, and was all the mightier for it.

Urkanthos' dreams of glorious victory withered in the face of that defiance, and his thoughts again turned to his orders. Destroy the null-array, and every drop of the defenders' valour would be for naught, burned away by the unstoppable energies of the Blackstone Fortress. Gathering the remnants of the Hounds of Abaddon to his side, Urkanthos carved a path for the command bastion and the prize within.

Creed marked the Daemon Prince's assault, but could do little to counter it, for it coincided with the arrival of a new threat. An armoured column, the Traitor Baneblade Vicanthrus at its head, ground its way over the dead and dying about the Kriegan Gates. The thunder-crack of Demolisher Cannons echoed around the crumbling bastions. Creed's leading ranks disintegrated under the bombardment. Voxes crackled, sergeants bellowed orders and the defenders' pattern of fire shifted to engage Vicanthrus.

The Whiteshield Conscripts of the 111th were little match for Urkanthos' retinue of damned, but they held the line to the last. Yet even when they were overcome, the Daemon Prince's route remained blocked, this time by the ardent Battle-Sisters of Our Martyred Lady.

Urkanthos hurled himself into the Sisters' ranks, exulting at each drop of martyr's blood to fleck his claws. Bolter-fire pattered off his carapace, and even the incandescent fury of Multi-Meltas were but a dull warmth upon his skin. Behind him came his last remaining Hounds. Of a dark brethren once numbering in the hundreds, now only a score remained. Lacking their master's protections, the Chaos Space Marines died hard, but die they did. It mattered not. Their purpose had only ever been to bring their master to his target. Before the last black heart stilled its motion, Urkanthos reached the command bastion's Egressium Gate.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

She came wreathed in holy fire, an angel cast from the Emperor's hand and into the horror of war. Down she swept, a thunderbolt shrieking from a golden star newly arrived in the skies of Cadia. As she drew closer to the beleaguered walls of Kasr Kraf, the defenders gave voice to a name. It began with the survivors of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, but it spread like wildfire, borne upon the lips of the faithful, uttered in reverence and in jubilation.

Celestine. Prayers had been answered. The miracle had come.

She smote the muster fields without slowing, the firestorm of her wake scouring besiegers from the stones. On Celestine swept, her sword a blur of silvered light amongst the spiralling smoke. Daemons scattered before her, seared from reality by the blade of one who was a blazing counterpoint to their unfathomable darkness.

Strength returned to weary limbs. Defenders who had forsaken all hope forged new mettle from despair. The Emperor was with them still. Why else would He have sent His Living Saint to guide them to victory? United, they rose for one final effort, no fear remaining in their hearts. Even Creed, lost to seething emotion, forgot the threat of the Blackstone Fortress in distant orbit and fought alongside his men. With the exception of the zealous Black Templars, only the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes felt no stirring at the sight of Celestine. The Imperial Creed was not their faith. Theirs was a bond of brotherhood, of duty to long-dead Primarchs, but if the homilies of the Adeptus Ministorum would deliver victory that day, then so be it.

For one moment, one glorious moment, the attackers' ranks shuddered. The Baneblade Vicanthrus, still locked in sightless combat with the nanomachines shredding its system, vanished beneath a zealous tide of humanity. Cultists scattered, their apostatic dreams dispersed by the Living Saint's arrival. Then the Black Legion met the defenders' newfound fury with their own blasphemous resolve. Despite their resurgence, outnumbered and outmatched, the defenders' counterattack stalled.

But faith renewed was not the only gift Celestine had brought to Kasr Kraf. Plasma Drives roared in the darkness. Landing gears crunched onto plascrete. The discordant notes of battle-hymns swelled, the chimes of blessed bells echoing along the walls. Even more than faith, even more than hope, the defenders of Kasr Kraf had needed reinforcements, and the Living Saint had provided.

Celestine had found them in the Warp, their transport's Plasma Drives all but dead through a Traitor's act, its Gellar Fields failing: five companies of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, thought lost some fourteen hundred standard years. Her light served as a beacon through the Empyrean, drawing the wounded vessel into the path of another craft and binding the two until realspace claimed them both once more. Now they came forth as her fiery sword, and to avenge a seeming-eternity adrift amidst the Immaterium. With their onset, the battle shifted once again - this time in the defenders' favour.

Urkanthos lurched through the Egressium Gate, his wings scattering the ashen remains of what had once been men. The cursed machine holding the Blackstone Fortress' wrath at bay was no more. The Despoiler's will had been done. Cadia waited to die, and Urkanthos had no desire to die with it. It was time to depart and claim his reward.

"Die, abomination!"

A Guardsman ran headlong towards the Daemon Prince, bayonet lowered. Urkanthos eviscerated the mortal with a single savage swipe. Licking blood from his talons, he let the body fall upon the remains of the black-clad prayer-witches who'd sought to bar his ingress.

Slaughter still raged across the muster field, the tempo and scent of it somehow different. Urkanthos longed to join it, even though to do so was to risk annihilation beneath the Blackstone's gaze.

In a swoop of wings, she landed before Urkanthos, her armour glittering in the golden light of her halo. At last, the Daemon Prince recognised the altered stench - the battlefield stank of her faith, her certainty.

"The corpse-bride," he growled.

The angel raised her sword, the point steady as a rock. "Your hour is done, beast."

Urkanthos laughed, the sound of it a rough peal of thunder. "It has only just begun. You are nothing. The echo of a false god. I will break you in half and set your skull upon Khorne's throne."

Agony wracked the Daemon Prince, a white heat searing the veins of his chest. Through slitted eyes, he saw the corpse-bride regarding him, unmoving. The pain passed. As ever, Urkanthos felt the stronger for it. Another trial endured.

"I am the Scourgemaster of the Black Fleet, the Right Hand of the Despoiler. You cannot match me alone."

Urkanthos pressed a taloned hand to the site of the faded agony. Something was wrong. The sword in his ﬂesh - the prayer-witch's sword - had gone. He spun around. Two prayer-witches stared back, their faces alive with light, their golden armour as radiant as a sun. Urkanthos, who never forgot those he slew, knew their faces. The twins he'd killed upon the threshold. His seething ichor dripped from the leftmost's blade. The blade so lately trapped in his ﬂesh. The first glimmer of uncertainty trickled into the Daemon Prince's bartered soul.

"I am not alone," said Celestine. "And your hour is done."

With a roar, Urkanthos swept back his wings, and pounced.

Suddenly, a bright beam of light struck from Cadia's bleeding skies and struck the broken earth of Kasr Kraf, bearing the Nameless Hero and his host of Blood Angels and faithful Whiteshields! This unexpected turn of events brought all eyes to their presence, some in annoyance and others in relief. Urkanthos regarded the newcomer with great disdain, for he sensed a great disturbance in the Warp. "Who comes now?"

"Your end." He answered, raising Soulrender at the ascendant.

Celestine could not believe her eyes. Just as the Emperor foretold, the Wolf of Terra stands before her, remaining pure and devoid of all corruption!

"Scourge of the Warp! Hear me!" The Nameless Hero bellowed at the daemon hordes washing across the battlefield, at last shedding his moniker. "I am Horus Lupercal, son of the Emperor of Mankind! Your hour of reckoning is upon you!" With that, the paragon of Cthonia charged into the frey.

 **}!{**


	12. Fall of Abaddon

**This chapter has been rewritten for typographical errors.**

 **}!{**

Horus Lupercal? Here?!

Urkanthos scowled as he regarded his challenger. He had thought Abaddon was spouting nonsense when he said those words. The Chaos ascendant never considered the gravity of such a revelation, and now that the greatest of traitors stood before him, clad in brilliant white and righteous zeal, he took pause in considering whether or not he should cross blades with the Lupercal.

The paragon of Cthonia was the most powerful champion Chaos Undivided ever saw, and how much more could he be now that he was reborn, at his prime and absent any flaws?

Horus did not give him enough time to weigh his options, however, and engaged the daemon champion in a duel that shook the very earth of Cadia.

Celestine, having recovered from her initial astonishment, took to the skies and brought down her ardent blade upon the daemon hordes. She decided it would be best for her to save her accusations for the Arch-traitor for another time, considering that they were in the middle of the biggest Black Crusade the Despoiler has ever wrought.

"Have you come to embrace the Ruinous Powers once more, Lupercal?" Urkanthos mocked, parrying the enraged demigod's spear with a casual swipe of his talon.

All bore witness to the Cthonian's dedication to rid Cadia of the traitor legions. Each answer Horus drew was history's prize, for all watched with great anticipation his every move and word. The Emperor himself watched, proud as a father would over his son. It was no secret that upon hearing the Lupercal's declaration the loyalists would brand him an enemy the moment their shock wears off, and would understandably act accordingly. And yet, miraculously, not a single loyalist weapon was raised against Horus as he dueled with Urkanthos!

"If they beckon, they waste their breath!" Horus snarled, delivering a savage kick to Urkanthos' wounded side. Quickly, the primarch followed up with a powerful swing of Soulrender. The hallowed weapon burned right through the ascendant's armored hand, severing it from his arm like a scythe through grain. The daemon prince roared in pain-wracked anger, for it was not only flesh that burned in that strike- but his very soul!

"What in damnation?!"

"Feel that?" Horus grinned, "That would be a piece of your existence chipped away!"

Urkanthos, now fearful of this treachery, backed down out of instinct. Whereas the wounds he bore healed from each spilling of blood, they remained open as though the very power of the Blood God- the one thing sustaining the daemon prince- had fled with the first strike of that wretched gilded weapon!

"Where is your courage now, Urkanthos?" The name tasted sour in his mouth, but Horus hurled forth his challenge just the same. His pace quickened as he raised Soulrender, "Where is your god now?!"

"Khorne, help me." Urkanthos whispered, pride preventing him from speaking out loud.

Alas, the Blood God had grown bored with the ascendant's attempts at seizing glory at the Cadian Assault, and even more so now that he reduced himself into a simpering fool- ultimately unworthy of his favor. And so, he withdrew his hand, content that blood would still be spilled.

After a brief exchange of desperate blows, Horus finally sunk his weapon into the ascendant's heart. "Do you know the difference between my father and the Chaos Gods?" Celestine, having dispatched the broken daemonic hordes and winning the Imperium Kasr Kraf, approached the Primarch and listened to the exchange. "He did not abandon me when I needed him most."

Urkanthos, knowing that all was lost, chose one last spout of defiance. With a mad grin, he answered Horus. "And do you think they will welcome you as that Corpse did? After all you have done?" He cackled as the flames ate at his body, "The Imperium will reject you, hunt you down like a dog! And your defiance against the Ruinous Powers earns you not a single ally among them! You have accomplished nothing, Lupercal! You have returned, a fugitive on both sides!"

Horus frowned, dislodging his spear from the ashen corpse. "Then so be it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Horus saw the ardent blade rise to meet his throat. Celestine met his gaze with righteous fury burning in her eyes, "Drop the spear, Arch-traitor."

This was bound to happen sooner or later, and Horus knew it.

"I will not ask again!" The Saint's angelic voice grew tight as did her grip on the blade.

Horus nodded once, calmly stabbing Soulrender upon the bloodied earth before removing his helm for all to see. By this time, the fields of Kasr Kraf had been retaken, with a stemmed flow of casualties as a price. The ranks of the loyalist armies, be it guardsman, astartes or sister, they all came together- gathering around the Lupercal and the Emperor's daughter.

"He stands as the worst of sinners!" Genevieve shouted, the first of a thousand voices to condemn the paragon of Cthonia. "My lady! I implore you, slay him now!"

"Aye! A billion worlds' worth of blood demands it! Kill the Arch-traitor!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

"An eye for an eye! It is just!"

The hatred was worse on the Blood Angels' end, for with the revelation of Horus' true identity came the violent visions of the Black Rage- a genetic and psychic flaw that forced every single son of Sanguinius to witness the death of their Primarch over and over again. It took the patience of a god for them to restrain themselves.

Celestine gazed out into the howling mob and then back at Horus, torn between what she had been taught about the Arch-traitor and what she was seeing now. Corruption, in all its forms, cannot stand the presence of a Saint. If Horus was yet of Chaos, why does he not flinch from her very presence? "You stand before us, your judges, accused of high treason and heresy. By all accounts, this judgment shall be a swift one. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

"Hold!" A powerful voice called out above the cacophony of murmurs. It was Sgt. Aggregius. "Celestine, stay your hand! Horus Lupercal is not our enemy!"

"Who are you to make such bold claims?" Celestine asked.

"I am Sergeant Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company! I make no mere bold claims, I speak the truth!" His eyes fell upon his friend, "Horus stood by me in my darkest hour against the xenos, he saved Battlefleet Imperatis and Agripinaa! By his hand, and mine eyes as witness, he struck down the Dark Apostle Erebus on Malin's Reach!"

There was a pause as the sergeant allowed the people to digest these truths.

"I know what you all think! I had similar thoughts when I realized who he was, and yet these testaments to his intentions are clear! Horus Lupercal returns, not as the Arch-traitor, but as the very instrument of the Imperium's salvation! Is that too hard to comprehend, my brothers and sisters?!"

"But... what if it is another trick?" A Blood Angel mused, "Some convoluted ruse the Great Enemy has wrought to ensnare us?"

"If he is Chaos, then how can he stand so close to Saint Celestine without so much as a flinch?" Aggregius argued, "She emanates the pure holy fire of the Emperor's Golden Throne! You all know corruption cannot stand before hallowed presence!"

There were murmurs of agreement amongst the brethren. Though not all stood entirely convinced, none can deny the sense in the Blood Raven's words. Horus met his friend's gaze and nodded appreciatively at his defense. He had thought none would stand with him, that he would face judgment alone, yet he was proven wrong.

"He has come to Cadia to aid us in the war against the Despoiler! I implore you, do not deny him his quest for redemption!"

Celestine, satisfied that her test was met with the results to her liking, lowered her sword and addressed the penitent Primarch. "Horus Lupercal, by the power invested in me as Saint of the Golden Throne, I judge you innocent. Pick up your spear and stand with us, for as far as I'm concerned, you are an ally to us."

"Thank you, Saint Celestine."

* * *

After that brief respite, time barely used to lick their wounds, the Black Fleet closed in over Cadia. Having beaten back the already heavily battered loyalist battlegroups, the Despoiler- understandably enraged by Cadia's stubborn resolve- hammered the 13th time and broke the Gates. His prize lay within his grasp, a feeling reminiscent of his father at the Siege of Terra, but he would not let it slip away as Horus did.

"Urkanthos has failed." He declared, mood soured by the loss of one of his prized generals. "Signal the _Will of Eternity_ to begin priming. This world's life is at an end."

Yet unbeknownst to Abaddon and his allies, Archmagos Belisarius Cawl managed to get by the blockade and land on Cadia Prime, his intentions clear on fulfilling his role to the Omnissiah. The work he had done, guided by the ever-enigmatic eldar harlequinn Shadowseer and the unlikeliest ally so far- Necron Lord Trazyn the Infinite- culminated to this moment. As the battles raged on above, Cawl coaxed life back into the Cadian Pylons, the network springing to action by the sequence punched in. Offering a prayer to the Machine God for forgiveness, should he be mistaken in trusting the xenos in his desperation to halt the Despoiler in his tracks, he initiates the final command and activates the Pylon Network.

The effects initially went unnoticed as the steady anit-psionic fields resonated amongst the waves of reality, and then all faint connections with the Warp suddenly stopped working. Psykers froze in their places, minds torn from bodies as the Pylons did their work. Daemons screamed in horror as their anchor upon this reality was severed, then were dragged back into the hellhole from which they came! Possessed machines, deprived of their daemonic halves, crumbled to nothing. Even the maddened hordes of Chaos turned on each other in a berserked rage, feeling the influence of the Ruinous Powers diminish in an instant!

A sable lance aimed directly at the swirling cauldron of lights that was the Eye of Terror, a rift in reality' that had stood since the birth of Slaanesh and Fall of the Eldar, it bursts across Cadia's skies and into the vastness of space itself! The beam picks speed, then strikes its mark. At first, the effects were as unnoticeable as the Pylon Network's activation, then the Eye gradually began to shrink!

Such a phenomenon could never have been imagined, let alone achieved!

The voidshields of the Black Fleet, a dark blessing of the Chaos Gods, soon faded to expose the traitor vessels to the wrath of the loyalist fleet. _The_ _Phalanx_ , star-fortress of the Imperial Fists, rained fiery retribution alongside the gathered warships of Battlefleet Imperatis. Maranda gave the order to throw everything they had in their reserves, sparing not a single Chaos vessel its share of fire!

Abaddon gritted his teeth at this. His 13th attempt to take Cadia had failed, like all the others.

"My liege, we must turn back!"

 _Drach'nyen_ was quick to eviscerate the helmsman, and he falls upon the rusted deck of the _Planetkiller_ with a loud slap. Abaddon leaned back and rested his chin upon his fist, eyeing the bloodstained claws on Horus' Talon as he contemplated on his next move. There was nowhere to run now, and he knew it. He could feel the Eye closing like a door behind him. He had thrown everything into this final endeavor, which he thought would have been enough to shatter the stubborn Gates of Cadia. The Chaos Gods were still with him, goading him to throw himself into the flames and trust in their will.

"My liege! I sense the loyalist scum teleporting onboard our vessel! We have no voidshields to keep them out!"

Abaddon rose from his throne and stared at the massive twin doors carved to resemble two bristling Bloodthirsters, the entrance from which the invaders would come through. "Let them come. We may not have taken Cadia, but we are far from defeated!"

Hundreds of berserkers stood beside hundreds of bloodthirsty traitor marines. There were lesser daemons present than before, having been dragged out by the weakened Eye of Terror, but that did not make it any less perilious for the loyalists.

The light burned brightly in the annex chamber, then faded just as quickly. Horus stood at the helm with a joined company of Battlesisters, Blood Angels, Black Templars and Kasrkin commandos. At his side was Saint Celestine, her twin Geminae, and Sgt. Aggregius. All other heroes could have joined for this honor, the chance to slay the Despoiler and claim such glory. Yet none were willing to stand by the Arch-traitor, who they felt had not yet earned the right to be called an ally.

For Horus, it was already a blessing that they did not decide to raise their weapons against him, so he did not think too much on their refusal to side with him. Instead, he was ever more grateful to have these people at his side in the confrontation with the Despoiler, although he was willing to face him alone. It came as a surprise that even the Blood Angels, who had every reason to hate him, chose to accompany him on this mission. Perhaps the bond between him and Sanguinius lived on even to this day?

Laying her just eyes upon so many traitors, the Saint's gaze blazed with righteous fury, the same fire that now burns in Horus' own! "By the Emperor, let not a single one live!" Celestine commanded, "Charge!"

All were drowned out by the roar of bolter-fire, bestial screams and clash of steel. Worldeater berserker met furious Blood Angel, daemon against screaming Sister, cultist against Kasrkin. The Black Templars, hailing from different chapters and combining their eclectic skills, wove in and out of the fray with such coordinated attacks that even Horus stood impressed by their skill!

Soulrender struck down Obliterator and Chaos lord, for all that towered above the lesser traitors rose to challenge the Primarch of Cthonia. Horus did not revel in the madness of this battle, for his mind was focused on only one thing, same as the sergeant who stood close by.

"Can I trust you to do what must be done?" Aggregius asked, kicking a daemon in the face and drawing his chainsword savagely across its belly. He meant Horus' conviction to slay Abaddon.

Horus nodded, "Come with me and see how far that conviction goes."

Aggregius roared furiously, striking all who stood before him with new fervor. Together, the two friends cut a bloody swath through the traitor ranks until they at last came upon the bridge. After a kilometer's worth of non-stop battles, the loyalists gained entry to the Despoiler's throneroom.

As the noise outside grew silent, the champions of Chaos gave one last exchange of words between themselves as they prepared to meet their assailants.

Ygethmor was commanded to leave the bridge and did so with haste. The Warmaster's work was not tied specifically to this campaign, there were other worlds out there needing the touch of corruption. As for the remaining Chosen of the Despoiler, Skyrak and Devram, they stood at their master's side like faithful hounds.

Lucius the Eternal Duelist, personally selected by the Daemon Prince Fulgrim, licked his lips at the impending slaughter. Around the Four, the Bringers of Despair readied their warp-blessed bolters and awaited eagerly for Abaddon's signal to begin.

The steps from the other side of the doors echoed faintly, and Abaddon frowned as he noticed the familiarity of the scent emanating from the challenger. Then he realized who it was even before the loyalist entered the throneroom.

"Ezekyle!"

The Despoiler's frown deepened upon the mention of his old name.

He eyed the white-clad primarch with contempt akin to what he felt when he first laid eyes on Fabius Bile's creation. "Only one had ever called my name that way, and he is dead- slain by the Corpse-Emperor himself! What stands before me now is a shadow of the man I once called father!"

With a wave of his hand, the Bringers of Despair discharged their weapons, drenching Horus with a wave of malevolent steel and plasmafire. Quickly, the Lupercal slams his spear onto the _Planetkiller's_ deck, enwreathing himself and his allies with a powerful psychic shield.

"Go!" Horus yelled, willing the Soulrender to blast a quick beam to distract their opponents. At his word, the Battlesisters spilled into the throneroom, voices screaming with unbridled fury as they poured blessed bolter-rounds into the hated enemy.

Lucius cackled with glee, letting his tongue slither from the torn gash that was his mouth, and leaped into the melee. His sword-hand moved with blinding speed, separating limb and head from the Battlesisters as he offered each soul to Slaanesh. The flesh-whip that used to be his right arm sliced through the air, aimed directly for the Saint as she took to the air. The Emperor's angel swooped down to dispatch the Slaaneshi champion, but was brought down as the flesh-cords twist in mid-air, entangling her in its grip.

Aggregius, seeing her dillemma, tackled Lucius to the ground and slammed his fist straight through the champion's face! Blood and brains splatter all over his helm, and it was here that the sergeant realized the legends behind the champion's name.

Every opponent who has bested Lucius, if ever they successfully did so, was ensured a horrifying end by the curse of Slaanesh herself. The writhing faces in Lucius' armor were each and every one of those unfortunate souls, each of them forced to give up their bodies for the eventual rebirth of the Eternal Duelist!

Aggregius leaned back and despaired at the thought of his impending doom.

He will not survive past this day.

His eyes turned to Abaddon, who stood high up on the pedestal while his champions fought against Horus and the others, and a desperate plan formed in the doomed sergeant's mind.

Celestine saw that look in his eyes and hers widens. "No."

Aggregius broke into a run, barreling past the Bringers of Despair and the Chosen, chainsword raised high to challenge the Despoiler to one final battle.

Abaddon glanced down at the smaller astartes and smiled. Like a wolf playing with an enraged mongoose, he obliged the Blood Raven.

In any chronicler's tale, the fight would have been glorious, a truly monumental event in history's vast page. The sergeant would have been put alongside the stands of the heroes of all time, with Sanguinius, Ferrus Manus, and so many others. But alas, none could be more further from the truth.

Aggregius' last acts of defiance were commendable, but all too brief.

Abaddon's Talon closed down upon the spacemarine's chainsword as it rattled harmlessly against the ceramite claws, _Drach'nyen_ stabbed into the Blood Raven's chest. Death was not granted immediately to the doomed sergeant, but he does not beg for it. Instead, he spat the blood from his mouth and clobbered the Despoiler in the eye.

Annoyed by the insult, the Despoiler lifted the dying loyalist high enough for all to see, and brought him down upon his knee, breaking his back in two.

Horus watched everything, helpless to save his friend as the two Chosen blocked his path.

"Aggregius!"

A Primarch's aggrieved voice was a mournful thing to hear indeed, and tears fell from the Battlesisters that yet lived.

The sergeant's broken body fell to the floor, motionless. The Black Rage overcame the Blood Angels, a similar vision of Sanguinius' demise forming in tandem with the Blood Raven's death. A familiar anger roiled within Horus' heart at the sight, he felt his muscles tighten and each swing of Soulrender grow stronger. The Chosen backed down, then were slain unceremoniously by the enraged primarch's wrath.

Abaddon smiled at the clone's challenge and met it with equal fury.

Horus brought down Soulrender with such force that Abaddon bent his knee and the floor beneath them cracked! Even in his rage, Horus moved with purpose, never once stooping to rampage like a lesser khornate berserker, but met Abaddon's strikes with calculated manuevers.

Here stood the very manifestation of Horus' sins. His hubris and pride that caused him to fall and be enslaved to the will of the Dark Gods, his every mistake that followed- the death and corruption of his brothers, the wounding of his beloved father. This was no mere battle, but a symbolical event.

Killing Abaddon would be killing himself, the true step to rebirth.

Suddenly, a crippling pain lanced through Horus' body, bringing the vengeful paragon to his knees! _Drach'nyen_ , sensing its wielder in peril, chose to act on its own and struck while Horus remained open for one split second, it was all it needed to halt Horus in his path of vengeance! The primarch groaned in agony and doubled over, allowing Abaddon to rise and claim his glory.

"A pity." He sneered, "I actually thought you were the true Lupercal. That fury is almost similar to him in his prime, but again I say- you are just a shadow of him."

"Leave him be!" Celestine stepped forth, engaging the Despoiler as Horus struggled to regain his strength to stand. _Drach'nyen_ remained lodged between his lowest rib and stomach, unleashing excruciating pain in every attempt to extract it!

The suffering dulled all senses, but Horus could make out Celestine's valiant front against Abaddon. The sight of her in battle was beauty in itself, the likes of which can never be seen anywhere else. Horus cried out as the daemon blade moves inch by bloody inch, until finally the wretched weapon comes free from his body.

"You've been a thorn in my side for too long now, woman." Abaddon struck Celestine across the face, planting three scars where the lightning claw hit her. The Saint fell, and the Despoiler caught her by the wings as she fluttered to the bloodied floor. "I wonder. Can an angel fly with broken wings?"

Horus gritted his teeth as Celestine screamed in agony. A series of sickening snaps followed as every bone in the angel's wings broke under the Despoiler's grasp! He laughed, absolutely relishing the pain in her anguished voice. "I love hearing you scream! I'm not in the habit of keeping pets as the lesser Slaaneshi do, but in your case I'll make an exception."

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Horus roared, propelling himself forward and tackling Abaddon back into the throne, destroying the horrid construct as they tumbled over into the pool of blood collecting under the bodies of the slain loyalists and traitors.

"Still alive I see!" Abaddon's annoyance turns to rage, he brings the Talon in to stab at the primarch. Horus catches his arm and brings him close, slamming his head inwards against the Despoiler's face, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch!

Celestine picked herself up on unsteady arms, body wracked with pain at her damaged wings. Her eyes fall on the godspear, and she reaches for it. She turns her misty eyes to Horus, watching as the demigod battles desperately against the Despoiler. Surmounting the crippling agony chewing on her back, she yells as she tosses Soulrender towards the Lupercal.

"Horus!"

In a flash, Horus caught Soulrender as it sailed through the air and twisted about just in time to meet Abaddon's final strike. The Despoiler's weapon never connected, but Horus' did. Golden light pierces the red glow of the bridge as Soulrender stabs through Abaddon's chest! Horus, bloodied and possessed by a cold rage, buries the weapon further, unmindful of the psychic energies battling within the Despoiler's body.

Abaddon's eyes met Horus', unlike most that met their end at the godspear's edge he remained steadfast and as defiant as befits a man born of Cthonia.

"You were my son, Ezekyle. Had I resisted the touch of Chaos, we would've treaded the stars together- to bring mankind to its glorious future." Horus whispered, eyes bearing great sadness. The Soulrender, already bloated with psychic energies, shattered to splinters in his hands!

Abaddon screamed as his soul burns in the immaterium along with his body, as it was with countless others who faced Horus, then bursts apart as the roiling eldritch energies sought escape!

The veil of reality splits open, dragging Horus into the Warp and out of the throneroom of the Despoiler's vessel.

And so ended the Despoiler's reign. In the Realms of the Ruinous Powers, the Chaos Gods beheld the climax of the Assault on Cadia with differing responses.

Nurgle glanced nonchalantly at Abaddon's demise and promptly went back to his cauldron to work on his latest project. Slaanesh, bored by the unsatisfactory end, turned her attention to the thousands of writhing and dancing bodies clamouring for her praise and adoration. Tzeentch saw this as a great alteration to his Plan, shrugged, then looked over more promising champions calling for his favor. Khorne, finding the whole thing amusing beyond measure, clapped his hands together and laughed.

Celestine clutched at her broken wings, feathers fraying as she ran her fingers gingerly across its surface. Fresh tears fall as the pain once again lances through her body, strength leaving her and rendering her faint with exhaustion. Her eyes search for any trace of her savior, heart growing frantic when she found none save for the scorched ground where he and Abaddon dealt their last.

"My lady?" Genevieve spoke softly, aiding her Saint alongside her twin Gemina back to her feet. "Where have they gone?"

Celestine said nothing, for she had no answer.

 **}!{**

 **This chapter has been rewritten for typographical errors.**


	13. A Chance Encounter

**Big E's sitting in the sidelines for too long, time to change that!**

 **}!{**

His presence in the Warp offends many, yet none were bold enough to challenge him as those in the mortal realm would.

He walked with purpose, strength doubling as the prayers from all corners of the Imperium increased tenfold with news of the Despoiler's arrival at the Cadian Gate. Yet these prayers have not gone unanswered. The Emperor had sent his faithful followers to battle the approaching darkness. Even now, the Black Fleet of Abaddon lies crushed under the heel of the mighty Imperial forces, morale and purpose lost with the death of their leader.

The Emperor of Mankind smiled, a mixture of sadness for all those innocents and mighty chosen lost, as well as gladness for the result of his son's work. The rift in the Warp that pulled Horus was not of his doing, but he remained confident in his son's safety. After all, his own blood flows through Horus' veins.

He did not appreciate, however, Celestine's willful disobedience to his command of how she would have recieved his son. Her decision to put her hatred for Horus' past sins over her duty would have jeopardized his plans for the Imperium's salvation as well as Horus' path to redemption. It worked out in the end, true enough, but the fact that even a Saint would disobey a direct order from the Emperor was a crime punishable by death!

Well, to be fair, that would have been the sentence had he been a thousand years younger. Time had broadened the Emperor's perspective, and he had seen many faults and flaws in his own character. Though he would never admit it to anyone but himself, the Emperor lamented over his mistakes and worked hard over the time he spent sitting on the Golden Throne to rectify all oversights.

Forgiving Horus and bringing him back was a start. Being the father he never was would be the ultimate challenge, but he was more than willing to try- for the sake of all that is good in mankind.

If he could forgive Horus, undoubtedly the worst of them, he could certainly forgive Celestine for her shortcomings.

As the Emperor walked the many paths of the Warp, he saw many great and horrifying secrets that only a god could comprehend. He had done this many times before, masking his psychic signature by willpower he had never dared utilize until now so that the denizens of the cursed place would not be alerted to his presence.

There were the realms in between the domain of the Four, inhabited by outcast traitor chapters and forsaken daemons. After observing the usual infighting, the Emperor moved on.

The Brass Kingdom lay beyond, and he stopped as soon as he stood on the fork leading to Khorne's domain. Soon, but not now. One day, he will stand with his sons on this very fork and battle the Blood God until he is vanquished forever. As it so happens, he will have to wait until Horus completes his tasks.

The Emperor closed his eyes, feeling the power of the Golden Throne waning as the ancient technologies breathed their last breaths. He knew it was only a matter of time before they fail completely, destroying his mortal body- the only anchor he had on reality- and throwing mankind back into the Dark Age. He needed an alternative solution, and he needed it very soon!

Just as he turned to leave the Warp to return to his decaying body, the Emperor heard something, carried about by the winds of the Empyrean. It was a piteous cry, a woman's lamentation that stabbed at his heart. The Emperor had to know who it was, and so he stayed a bit longer, drawing close to the origin of the sound.

The realms shift, as if splitting itself from the domain he stepped in. A stench unlike any other assaults the Emperor's nostrils, almost enough to banish this idea from his mind entirely! He flinches once, feet mired in the green muck, but continues onwards. Further into the swamps of Nurgle's Garden did the Emperor go, deeper into the murky depths of the filth-ridden domain.

The bloatflies and nurglings ignore the trespasser, busy enough frolicking in the dead reeds that lined the banks of the river flowing through the severed legs of great beasts that formed the trees of the undergrowth. Soon, after what felt like an eternity, the Emperor stood at the threshold of what passes for Nurgle's palace.

A mass of rotting, bloated flesh filled with all manner of pestilence stood hunched over a great cauldron that boiled with a diseased broth that changed from acrid yellow to rancid green as the God of Decay pours forth both bile and other matter from his many tubes and flasks.

The Dark god does not notice him as he scoops up a spoonful of the substance and drags his bulk across the cracked floor, covering in his wake a disgusting trail of ooze that spored thousands of maggots and nurgling imps! The Emperor of Mankind winced in absolute abhorrence, watching as Grandfather Nurgle draws closer to a cage sitting in a spacious dwelling close to his laboratory.

His bulk was so large that he covered the cage entirely, obscuring its prisoner from the Emperor's sight as the Dark god worked his foul magic. An agonized cry emanated from the cage, not unlike the one he heard from outside, the same voice that drew him here in the first place!

Nurgle clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, then slides away slowly, muttering to himself at what he did wrong with the broth. With his bulk out of sight, the Emperor beheld the Dark god's captive with great sadness.

It was a most pitiful sight. The prisoner's clothes were rent, revealing a body ridden with buboes, lesions and poxes. Remnants of Nurgle's vile potion dripped from the gashed lips, pooling onto the floor of the cage. But what astonished the Emperor the most was the cleansing aura the prisoner unleashed following the harrowing ordeal, revealing what lay beneath the diseased flesh.

Lesions scabbed and closed, poxes and buboes released their pus, health returns to the prisoner's body. Isha, Aeldari Goddess of Life, sank into the bars of her prison, exhaustion pouring sweat from her brow as she fought against Nurgle's poison and won.

The Emperor stood there motionless for hours, absolutely mesmerized by the goddess' beauty...

His eyes took in the locks of hair flowing down her shoulders, white as the snow that dotted the peaks of the Himalayan mountains. Her kind, gentle face, marked with suffering. Here stood the last manifestation of good and benevolence in the galaxy, imprisoned and forced to serve the dark will of Nurgle.

The Emperor's hands curled into fists. Even he, mightiest of mankind's gods, paled in comparison to Isha. The infinite compassion he reserved only for mankind found itself pouring forth for the goddess' plight. He drew closer to the cage, ever more cautious as he passed Nurgle's hunched form unnoticed, and spoke to Isha.

"Greetings, goddess of the Aeldari."

Isha's tired eyes lift to the sound of his voice. A millennia of hearing only the rough, mirthful voice of her captor had distorted her perception of any other, it came as a welcome surprise that someone else broke words with her this day.

"I am no one's goddess, stranger." Isha sighed, "I am but a shadow of that once was, a whisper forgotten. Soon, I shall fade from the Empyrean, abandoned in belief as the Ruinous Powers take their place as dominant gods of this era." Her eyes stare out, dispair breaking the last strands of hope holding her together. It was enough to send the Emperor in a cold rage.

An alien god she may be, but she did not deserve this fate. She did not deserve a sentence brought on her by the foolish actions of her followers!

"Why are you here, of all places, stranger?"

"I heard your cries, Isha." The Emperor knelt, eyes taking in the misty gaze of the entrapped goddess. "I heard them, and they have rended my heart."

"You've come...because you think there's a way to save me." Isha didn't even blink, "You're not the first, and certainly won't be the last. Yet I say unto you, as I have said unto those who have made the attempt and failed...waste not your efforts on me."

"I am not those who have failed." He replied, "I am the Emperor of Mankind! Soon, my sons shall return, and together we will defeat the Ruinous Powers and end their reign over the materium!"

"And why, pray tell, Emperor of Mankind, will you waste such power over a broken husk such as I?" Isha gazed sadly into the eyes of her visitor.

"Because..." The Emperor swallowed his pride before answering. "Because I will not allow what is good and just in this galaxy, be it alien or familiar, to die without cause! You and I may be born of different races, but that is no cause for me to simply do nothing."

Isha was silent for a moment, then she reaches out from behind the bars and touches the face of the God-Emperor. Beneath the rage was the face of a man, hellbent on righting all wrongs- be it by his hand or otherwise. His cause was just, intentions fair, which was more than she can say for all the gods in the Eldar pantheon. "Oh...I wish I could believe your promise of salvation...I really do. But hope is a dangerous thing, and I'm sure you know of what I speak of."

Her touch was warm, the very breath of life pulsating from her skin. It was a most pleasant experience.

The Emperor reached up and clasps his hand over hers, "I'll promise it anyway. Know this, Isha. I will save you from this fate!"

Nurgle approaches, flask ready with a more potent version of the one he had given to his companion earlier. The Emperor arose, ready to strike down the God of Decay. He knew he wasn't powerful enough to match the elder god, but he didn't care. His heart was heavy, for it had gone for the ill-fated goddess trapped in this realm.

Isha, still holding his hand in hers, called for the Emperor's attention and shook her head. "Leave, Emperor of Mankind. You cannot save me, not while your own empire needs saving."

The Emperor gives her a bewildered look and despairs, reluctantly drawing back to the exit as he watches Nurgle force down the concoction into Isha's mouth.

She gasps and sputters, fresh lesions forming at her lips and throat as the new disease takes hold of her.

Her screams of pain embed themselves into the Emperor's mind as he returns to the materium.

Once again, he finds himself sitting on the Golden Throne, forced to watch as his empire slowly crumbles around him. Even with the victory on Cadia, the many dangers encroaching from within and without the Imperium were very real- and not all could be addressed immediately.

In silence, he suffers, heartbroken at the image of Isha's fate burnt into his mind.

* * *

The Eye had shrunk, that much was obvious.

Eldrad Ulthran, wise Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe, had divined this in earlier visions. One of the many paths for such a feat involved the inevitable invasion of the Mon'Kei world of Cadia, which lay short of a thousand lightyears from one of the refuge worlds of the Eldar orbiting the treacherous swirling mass of the Eye of Terror. In order for the ensured security of his people to remain so, Eldrad decided to intervene as he had many times before, though this time for the benefit of the Imperium.

This decision led him to slip past the chaos of the orbital battles of man and into midst of one of the Despoiler's captured Blackstone Fortresses.

As he attempted to commune with the corrupted spirits aboard the vessel, something went horribly wrong. A massive psychic surge emanating from the Despoiler's flagship had erupted suddenly, tearing the psionic connection he formed with the Blackstone Fortress and dragging the Farseer and his entourage of Guardians and Exarchs with him!

To the Farseer's dismay, he found himself trapped within the bowels of the very Blackstone Fortress he wished to cleanse, a perilous place to be indeed! "Ancestors preserve us! Make haste, my friends, we must leave this cursed fortress!"

But as the steam wafting from the heated floor dissapated, Eldrad froze as his eyes beheld a most astonishing sight. For there, a few meters from where they stood, was the Primarch Horus Lupercal! He was not mistaken, Eldrad could feel the powerful psychic signature of the Emperor's son, it was truly him.

This did not come as good news, and Eldrad raised his spear alongside the shuriken weapons of his Guardian squads. They anticipated the Primarch's next move, expecting him to attack. For why shouldn't he? Here, in the heart of the battle for Cadia? What other reason would he have than hurl Chaos' foul cause further onwards?

Yet that did not seem to be the case, for some reason. Eldrad was confused. He regarded the wounded Primarch closely, yet with great caution, finding not a single bit of evidence that he was touched by Chaos. Instead, he reeked of the Mon'kei Emperor's power flowing through his veins.

Horus, weakened by the foul wound inflicted upon him by Abaddon's daemon sword, struggled with all his demigodlike might to surmount his horrid suffering. His hand clutched a shard of Soulrender, the mighty weapon shattered upon the Despoiler's demise, perhaps causing that sudden appearance of a warp rift that pulled him here. His dimming eyes turned to the eldar Farseer standing next to him, warlock spear's tip placed upon his neck. He recognized Eldrad of Craftworld Ulthwe from that one chance encounter so long ago, "Have you come to kill me?"

Eldrad's brow archs at this, "I find myself debating the issue, Horus Lupercal. Your appearance in this grand game of Fate is unprecedented, and frankly I feel as though I would be ridding the universe of one more danger to the weave of existence should I give in to my better judgement."

"Then what's stopping you?"

The Farseer's eyes turned to the swirling cauldron of purple lights dancing above the annex chamber. He could feel a dark presence within the Blackstone Fortress, and it was no mere daemon seizing control of the ancient construct. No, it felt familiar, and very much horrifying.

 ** _"Ah! Company!"_** It spoke, heralding the arrival of none other than Slaanesh herself! **_"I was getting bored with this_** **_endless prattle."_** She came in the form of a young, luscious nymph clothed in transparent purple silks. Eldrad's entourage remained frozen for a split second, then opened fire, while at the same time battling the Dark god's influence in the mental scale. In the end, they failed.

Slaanesh had only to bat her eyelashes, then the aeldari were reduced to ash. Eldrad staggered back, uncertainty paralyzing his decision on whether or not he should flee from this cursed place. Slaanesh did not give him the chance to act on it, however, and trapped him under a stasis field. **_"Tsk tsk tsk. Where are your manners? You are all guests here, act like it!"_**

Horus, finding strength as his wound began to heal, sat up and dared to gaze upon the face of the Prince of Excess. He had met with her before, he knew how to tread around Slaanesh better than anyone. Akin to a spoiled child, Slaanesh's will can be manipulated easily- if one was crafty enough to accomplish such a feat. "Of course, milady. Or is it milord? I forget which one you prefer over the other."

Slaanesh, in a humorous mood, entertains Horus' gesture and throws her head back. Her laughter was like a cascading waterfall, beautiful but quite deadly. **_"Either one is quite alright with me, as long as you do not forget your place!"_**

"If I may ask, what brings you here, oh Prince of Chaos?" Horus didn't mean any of the curtsies and pleasantries. For his own sake, buttering Slaanesh up was a necessary evil.

 ** _"Actually, I might ask the same of you. This fortress is a shrine dedicated to me. Am I to take your arrival as a sign of your dedication to me, Lupercal?"_**

"Unfortunately...no." Horus clutches the piece of Soulrender tightly. "A random circumstance brought me here. If you would be so kind as to show me the way out-

Slaanesh archs her brow, **_"Leaving so soon? Do you not find my presence alluring? You should feel honoured that I have graced you with my attention! Not many have been bestowed this gift, and you would dare refuse?!"_**

"Um...that was not what I meant to imply-

Slaanesh snaps her finger and reverted back to her original form, a terrifying daemonnete covered in charred onyx scales. The whole room pulsated with the Dark Prince's power, matter writhing with the winds of change at the behest of Slaanesh's will. **_"Enough! I'm bored now. Entertain your Prince, if you wish for any favors."_**

Eldrad and Horus soon found themselves in the middle of a large arena, replacing the Blackstone Fortress's annex chamber as Slaanesh drags them out of realspace and into her personal limbo.

Circumstances had forced the two to cross paths, landing them into this mess. Even Eldrad found himself having difficulty blaming the primarch for this unfortunate twist in Fate. He was not above cooperation, so he proposed what most would consider unthinkable. "A temporary alliance, Mon'Kei?"

"I suppose." Horus muttered, readying himself for what comes next.

Daemonettes leap into the arena, at the helm of a herd of stampeding Slaaneshi steeds, brandishing pristine onyx claws that promised a bloody end for the two contenders. Horus was left with his bare fists once more, only Eldrad remained armed with the Farseer's Spear. It suits him fine, the primarch felt absolutely eager to soil his hands in daemon blood.

Moving as though the wound in his side meant nothing, Horus dove forward and met the daemons head-on, pommeling fist after fist, crushing their delicate bodies in his superhuman grip.

Eldrad moved with a purpose in line, but completely opposite of the primarch's tactics. Whereas Horus met them with a direct approach, Eldrad applied grace and finesse to his battles, as befits a man of the aeldari people.

"We have to find a way to escape this place!" Eldrad cried, dodging a warp-bolt screaming overhead.

"Agreed, but at the moment this remains as the only solution!" Horus mused, "The Dark Prince is at a good mood, perhaps that stands in our favor?"

"Nothing of She Who Thirsts is in our favor, Lupercal! You would do well to remember that!"

"Of course." Horus answered.

The two battled alongside each other for what felt like days, barely able to rest in between bouts as Slaanesh threw everything but her own palace at the heroes for her seemingly insatiable appetite for games. Just when it seemed to have no end, Slaanesh declared an end to this madness.

Scores of daemon and gladiators lay in mountains around and beneath the two heroes. Horus' armour was battered to the point where the pauldrons came loose and fell away, exposing the muscular arms beneath. Eldrad's robes were reduced to tatters, rent and torn where Slaanesh's hounds bit and ripped.

 ** _"Bravo!"_** Slaanesh clapped, needs sated for the time being. **_"You have pleased your god! I'm feeling very generous today, ask what you will and I shall grant it. Hurry though, I've a realm to look after."_** Eldrad spoke for both of them, "Release us! Withdraw your presence in the Cadian System! That is what we want!"

Slaanesh swallows a whole bunch of grapes and archs her brow, **_"That's it? No request for power, secrets to eternal bliss? Very well. You mortals and your small minds, they never cease to baffle me."_** With a wave of the Dark Prince's hand, she returns the two back to where she got them- the Blackstone Fortress. With Slaanesh's presence withdrawn from the construct, the artificial intelligence within suddenly regained control of the starbase. With the intense ordeal behind them all of a sudden, the strength left the legs of both warriors, and they collapsed onto the floor.

Time had frozen still as the two were dragged into Limbo, as though not even a split second had passed since they left.

The battle for Cadia Prime still raged in earnest around them, with the Black Fleet's back broken after Abaddon's sudden death, the odds had shifted to the loyalists' favour.

Horus looked at Eldrad and offered his hand. Pride, as always, caused the Farseer to make an error in his decision, and he does not accept the friendly gesture.

Horus, however, does not take this personally, and he moves to make his own way off the Blackstone Fortress, leaving Eldrad alone to contemplate his next move. It was a calculated risk on Horus' part, leaving the alien to his own devices instead of killing him as duty requires. He knew Eldrad was altruistic in his own way, and that was cause enough for him to give him this one chance.

Horus paused in the middle of the spacious corridor he was walking on and held up the shard of Soulrender in his hand. He remembered his special bond with the Emperor, and it was here that he realized how foolish he was that he did not think of asking for his father's help. He was always a whisper away. "Father. If it is possible, would you kindly open a rift to take me off this cursed place?"

The answer came in the form of a whisper, barely tickling the back of the Primarch's mind. **_"I have already given you the means of such power. Your spear distorts realspace as it does with the immaterium, put it to good use."_**

"But it's broken! How can I even..." Horus glanced down at the shard.

 ** _"A shard is all you need, and the will to guide its purpose._** ** _"_**

Horus nodded, understanding the Emperor's meaning. "Thank you, father." With all that said and done, he holds up the shard and wills it to open the rift. A bright light pierces the darkness of the corridor as reality parts before the Primarch, leading into the war-torn earth of Cadia Prime.

 **}!{**


	14. We March for Macragge

**Whew, this one took a while!**

 **Sorry, had to tweak a bit, y'know how it goes.**

 **}!{**

"He came to us, heart heavy with guilt and purpose driven towards redemption." Celestine spoke, taking it upon herself to speak for the ceremony honoring the valiant dead slain in the battle for Cadia. Millions of unsung heroes shall remain lost, forgotten by the fallible memories of human minds, but those that are remembered shall be etched in sacred stone. Names were carved into the pillars of marble erected upon Kasr Kraf, the site of one of the largest stands in Cadian history. "He came to us, knowing that we would reject him. Even then, he stood true to his purpose and carried out his duty- as a true servant of the Imperium must. Our hearts shall forever carry the fault, the wrong we have done when we shut him out." The servitors had listed and documented each name, until the final was etched in words of gold.

Thousands of the Emperor's loyal servants have gathered for the ceremony, vid-feeds broadcasted all across the Segmentum to give honor to the Saint's commemoration to the fallen. Ursarkar Creed watches from atop the walls of his citadel at the gathering, then turns to leave, opting to tend to the security of the battered fortress city over the ceremony. The Blood Angels, the Spacewolves, the Imperial Fists, the Black Templars and their successor chapters, they all stood together as it was with the glorious days of the Great Crusade. By their side stood the hundred or so Astra Militarum, all bearing fresh wounds from the battles fought two days before. Their hatred for the Arch-traitor slowly faded with each sentence Celestine said, replaced with a shallow admiration for his efforts in swaying the odds of the Cadian Assault to the Imperium's favor.

Celestine looks upon the thirteen gilded letters, signifying the man who had done more than enough to earn forgiveness, and sighs. "Horus Lupercal of Terra, this day you stand redeemed in the eyes of the Imperium and of mankind. Words cannot express the gratitude we feel for your sacrifice."

"A simple thank-you will suffice!" Called forth a familiar voice. The implication of such an event provoked a shocked response from all who stood present, and heads turned to the one-thought-dead. Horus Lupercal strode forward, passing through the path opened by those who parted in his presence. Celestine's eyes widen at the sight, and she wills her wings- now healed through the divine power of the Emperor- to lift her off the pedestal and towards the approaching Primarch.

His armor was battered and scarred, the pauldrons and armguards missing from what seemed to be a harrowing ordeal. "Barely a week has passed and you've deemed me worthy of death?" Horus' face was bared, for his helm was gone, exposing the demigodlike features on his visage. "My work for the Emperor is far from over." An inexplicable sadness washed over the Primarch as he beheld the gilded name of his friend upon the hallowed pillar. Sergeant Marcus Aggregius was a good man, there was no higher honor he could attain than how he met his end- with defiance in his eye and righteous fury burning within his heart.

Celestine smiles, remembering in perfect detail the Primarch's selfless actions aboard the Despoiler's vessel. The same reaction could be seen on Captain Maranda Goodwill, although she remained conflicted about the sudden revelation of her liege's identity. "You've returned, Lord Lupercal. How is such a thing possible?"

"Do not call me Lord." Horus shook his head, "I have not earned that right yet. I shall remain as such until the Emperor ordains it so." He then answers, "Upon slaying Abaddon, I was pulled through a portal that landed me within one of the Blackstone Fortresses. Therein, I met the Aeldari Farseer Eldrad of Ulthwe. Then, I had the unfortunate happenstance of encountering the Dark Prince Slaanesh aboard the fortress."

Upon the mention of the hated foe's name, gasps and muttered prayers emanated from the crowd at Horus' testimony. He held nothing back, not this time. "For what seemed like weeks, we fought for our freedom within the Warp. We won, eventually. Then, by my father's power, I returned to realspace and walked across miles upon miles of Cadian soil to reach Kasr Kraf."

"Our hearts lift at your return, Horus." Celestine glided smoothly across the plain to meet the Primarch, "Let no doubt make itself known, that the redeemed son has come. Now that Cadia has been saved, what are we to do now?"

Horus seized the moment to rally his allies, standing close to the pedestal for all to see. "Servants of the Imperium, hear me! This war of ours isn't over! Though Abaddon lies dead, his war host remains at large! They scatter across the Imperium, having breached the gates of Cadia during the Despoiler's failed attempt to bring us to heel! My purpose has been set by the Emperor of Man, but I cannot do it alone." Horus lifted an outstretched hand, as if to reach the men and women across the Segmentum. "My brothers who yet live; Guilliman, El Johnson, Corax, Khan and Russ! I must bring them back, and I need your help. I do not demand, but humbly ask that you pledge yourselves to my banner. Let me lead you, that I may bring Mankind its glorious future! What say you, sons and daughters of the Imperium?"

Where one expects thunderous applause or an uproar, one can be mistaken.

Horus' words were met with stoic silence, for even now in spite of Celestine's words, doubt remained in the minds of the people. But because of the undeniable benevolent cause of the Redeemed Primarch, doubt left to give room for hope. That same hope planted in the mind of the Emperor since the first days of the Age of Strife, when Mankind was at its darkest hour and he plucked them from the age of barbarism and into the prosperous empire today. That hope gave guardsman, astartes and battlesister the courage to throw caution to the wind and rally to the one who they once called the Greatest of Traitors.

"We stand with Horus Lupercal!" The Spacewolves growled, "For the Russ! Bring the Wolftime ever closer!"

"Aye, what better cause than this?" A guardsman said, obviously eager to throw in his lot with the crusades than with pointless exercises that will undoubtedly waste his life. He was promptly whipped upside the head by his Commissar for speaking out of turn.

"I am with Horus!" Captain Maranda yelled, with all the loyal crewmen of Battlegroup Imperatis standing beside her. " _Ave Imperium_!"

"My sword for your cause, Lupercal." Celestine nodded, and with her stood a thousand strong faithful warriors of the Ecclesiarchy. The battlesisters bowed humbly at their saint's decision, and they followed through no matter how much the confessors blustered and protested. Not all were willing to side with Horus, even with all evidences pointing towards his innocence. Most were content with remaining at the theatre of war, locally speaking, such as Ursarkar Creed and the other Ordos Militant in the sector. So much was needed to be done, the mess of the 13th Black Crusade needed to be cleaned up, and more than anyone else Creed knows that to do so will require many more guardsman lives.

"Shall I have your name blotted out from the monument, mesere?" The artisan inquired, pointing at the Primarch's name inscribed upon the pedestal.

Horus shook his head, "Leave it. The old Horus Lupercal is dead, and so his name must remain upon that stone."

"As you wish."

* * *

Horus approached the annex chamber of the Archmagos' ship, having his presence requested prior to his return. Belisarius Cawl bore an equal burden of good and ill tidings, he knew as much. "You have summoned me, Archmagos?"

 _"Horus Lupercal."_ The ancient one droned, his voice a series of clicks and almost-alien mechanical whirs. _"Your return, I still cannot come to terms with it. Like an eddy in the river, an impossible outlier in an equation. Your involvement in all this defies logic."_

Horus nodded, wishing they could just cut to business instead of pointless digression. "Yes, I'm still getting used to it as well. What do you have for me?"

 _"Am I correct to assume you will make for the Ultramar Subsector after your purpose here at the Obscurus has been concluded?"_

"My brother Guilliman, he remains as the closest lead and the first I am able to reach. And so, he must be awakened." Horus answered, "Is this why you called me?"

 _"Yes, and I believe I can be of great help to your cause, for my purpose is in line with your goals."_ Cawl steps into the light, revealing a monstrous amalgamation of humanoid and centipede-like mechanical features posing as human. By now, Horus has gotten used to seeing the unexpected, so he wasn't quite surprised to meet the Archmagos in this manner. _"You see, a little over half a millennia ago, even before the final fires of your war against the Imperium, your brother suffered a fatal blow by the Daemon Prince Fulgrim. I was tasked by the Primarch, before he went through death-stasis, to find a way to revive his ailing body."_

"I assume you've succeeded."

 _"Quite so."_ Archmagos Cawl beckoned for the Primarch to follow, _"If you'd kindly step alongside me, I will show you the fruits of our labors."_

Deep within the ship of the Archmagos, a vessel wrapped in secrecy for many reasons, Horus bore witness to the technological wonders Cawl had collected throughout his travels across the galaxy. He had seen much, but not all, and he gaped at the sight of all this. "Amazing."

 _"Yes, impressive collection, is it not? Alas, it pales in comparison to Lord Trazyn of the Necrons."_ Cawl muttered, finally arriving at the foot of a large sarcophagus etched with many angelic figures and words in ancient latin- a language transformed into High Gothic. _"Here we are! Horus Lupercal, behold the Armour of Fate."_

"This is how you will save Roboute?" Horus asked, slightly skeptical about the option.

Cawl, obviously offended, blustered. "Primarch, _do not insult me by your lack of imagination! This is the Armour of Fate, and it will not only save Primarch Guilliman's life, it will empower him!"_ Furthermore, Cawl showed Horus a special chamber in which the revered power-armor of the finest heroes were forged. _"I understand that you've lost some essential pieces to your armor. Let this chamber rectify that oversight, you look embarrassing."_

Horus' brow arches at the Archmagos' unamusing remarks. "I may need a weapon more than another fancy getup. As you can see, all that remains of my father's gift is a lonely shard."

 _"We have an artificer's dock close by. I trust you know how to use one?"_ Cawl replied, turning away to tend to other matters. _"Work quickly, milord. Please, do not overstay your welcome. We have a long journey ahead of us."_

Horus, choosing to ignore the Archmagos' petulant tone, worked quickly to restore Soulrender as best as he could. All of the Emperor's children were skilled craftsmen, all except for Lorgar- who was more at home with reading holy writs than forging weapons. Horus enjoyed these rare moments, the building and crafting. Life for a Primarch rarely meant the chances to create, for in a galaxy ridden with war there was no time for such indulgences.

Within hours, the new Soulrender was created.

It wasn't the same as the old one, for this one had the one shard of the original planted upon its blade like a fixed gem. Horus' armor was repaired as well, and also improved. Technoheresy, that was what the Ordo Mechanicus thought of Cawl's shameless attempts to improve himself and his technologies. Horus didn't care so much, in fact he was quite happy with the results.

He returned to the _Golgo's Respite_ , where loyal Maranda Goodwill awaited with baited breath. It goes without saying that she was eager to begin a journey anew, for a cause as noble as this. "Welcome back, my liege. To where shall we go to bring the Emperor's light?"

Horus nodded, "Captain, set course for the Ultramar Subsector." With the diminished state of the Eye of Terror, Warp travel had become possible once again. But just as this circumstance benefits the loyalists heading for Guilliman's domain, it just as much benefits the traitor vessels heading in that same direction. For as Battlefleet Imperatis, along with their allies, makes way for Ultramar, the Plaguefleets of Typhus claw their way into the heart of the subsector, spreading disease and ruin in their wake.

* * *

His wings bristled, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. The Raven Lord, reduced to a brooding, immobile shell of his former self, knelt before the nav-computer in the spacious bridge that had been his home for near- five thousand years. His eyes, then remained closed each night as he attempted to regain the clarity that allowed him to speak to his father upon the Golden Throne.

Something disturbed the winds of the Warp, he could feel its pulse. Corvus Corax opened his eyes to stare out into the mass of writhing flames that was the skies of the Eye of Terror, regaining stance as he realized what was amiss.

The Eye was closing to a mere slit in realspace.

"Impossible." Corvus muttered, breaking the silence for the first time in his long meditation. "Could it be..."

A rift opens before the Raven Lord, and the Emperor of Mankind reveals his astral form. With the faith restored following the successful defense of Cadia, the psychic energies fueling the god's powers increased tenfold, and where he had failed once to visit his lost sons so far away he could do so now albeit with a slight difficulty.

The mere sight of his father's revelation was enough to bring Corvus down on his knees. Akin to Horus, penitent and guilt-ridden, Corvus prostrated himself before the Emperor he had failed to protect and begged for forgiveness.

Although it was obvious that the Emperor was disappointed in his son for hurling himself into a self-flagellating journey alone into the Eye of Terror when his Imperium needed him most, this was not the time for words of rebuke. _**"On your feet, my son."**_

Corvus follows as commanded, "My lord, what do you ask of your servant?"

An opportunity presented itself for him to chastise the Raven Lord, and the Emperor seizes it. His words were gentle, but nonetheless stung. _ **"That you would stop wasting time here wallowing in self-pity and return to the Imperium you've abandoned. Go now, I have sent your brother Horus to deal with the Despoiler and has succeeded in stabilizing the Eye of Terror. He now makes way for Ultramar, and he needs you there for him to awaken Roboute. Your task is simple; aid him in his endeavors and bring back Mankind from the brink."**_ He pauses, noting the mix of horror, rage and confusion in his son's otherwise stoic features.

"I..." Corvus sighed, resigning all treacherous thoughts of the Emperor's command. "I will not disappoint you again, father."

The astral form reaches forward and puts its hand on the Raven Lord's shoulder, _**"I trust you with this, Corvus, for too much hangs in the balance. Put aside your doubts for your brother, I have already redeemed him from the forces of Chaos- who have held him prisoner all those years ago."**_ The thought of his own son defying his command as Celestine did was horrifying, but was possible nonetheless. Still, the Emperor chose to have faith in the Raven Lord, it the only thing he could do.

"I understand."

 _ **"Good. Then waste not the hour. Move quickly, my son, for every moment passed the forces of Chaos draw near to Ultramar."**_

* * *

Horus stood close to the command throne, eyes staring out into the vastness of space as he had done many times before, heart growing frantic as he thought of the many innocents caught in the crossfire. Typhus the Traveller, a loathed champion of the Chaos God of Rot, spares no one and will take his time delivering plague and disease upon every Imperial world his influence touches. There will be blood, that is the reality of this bleak future. No doubt the loyalist fleets will be forced to cleanse the worlds visited by the corrupting touch of the Deathguard Plaguefleets, for the sole purpose of safeguarding those worlds that remained untouched.

His other concerns lay with the reception of the Ultramarines and their successor chapters at his arrival. He had done well so far with convincing, albeit with a begrudging nature, the people of the Segmentum Obscurus to fight alongside him for this noble endeavor, but it will be foolish of him to think that is will be the same for the rest of the Imperium.

A fractured, self-destructive shadow of its former self- the forces of Mankind will likely raise their weapons against him than let him set foot on Macragge, even with all the host at his side.

"There is doubt in your eyes, Primarch." The angelic voice spoke up, "What troubles you?"

"Saint Celestine!" All moved to prostrate themselves before the angel, but she stops them with a wave of her hand.

"Peace, my brethren. I only wish to speak with Horus Lupercal, continue in your duties and turn a blind eye."

Horus nodded for the crew to acquiesce to her command, then turned to walk with the saint upon the empty halls behind the bridge. "You ask what troubles me? It is the same doubts I've had when I first stepped out of the Warp and into the realms of Cadia. There, the people needed a savior, and so their acceptance was born out of necessity rather than true forgiveness. I suppose it is childish for me to think they would do so, but what is a Primarch to do when there is room for them to question my every decision and motive?"

"In that I should ask your forgiveness."

Horus frowned, "What do you mean?"

Celestine confessed her fault, "I have made the blasphemous error of defying the Emperor's decree when he plucked me out of the darkness and sent me to aid you in your cause. I allowed my hatred for your sins in the Horus Heresy to blind me, to keep me from seeing the God-Emperor's infinite wisdom. As a Saint, His mortal representative, I should have known better. I have yet to atone for my sin when I face my God, but I can at least ask for your forgiveness."

Horus nodded, slowly digesting this revelation. "We both walk the path to redemption...but tis better than walking it alone."

Celestine smiled at this, a rare sight in such grim times. "I thank you, Lord Lupercal."

"I am no 'Lord', Celestine." He reminded her, "But I appreciate the respect you have for me."

 _"My liege! We have exited realspace! It has already begun!"_

Horus took a deep breath, then exhaled. That could only mean that Typhus had already gone and left, leaving a trail of ruin in his wake. "Understood. Make a speedy headway for Macragge, Captain. We must aid the defense forces of Ultramar as best as we can. Guilliman must survive!"

 **}!{**

 **Shorter than I wanted it to be, but the best must be saved for the next chapter. I promise, it'll be worth the wait!**

 **Thank you for your continued support of this fic :)**


	15. The Perfect Son

**The fight finally reaches Ultramar, as promised!**

 **}!{**

High in the Atheron Mountains of the Shrine World of Laphis in the Macragge System, unearthly energies stirred. They flowed in barely perceptible currents, whipping up dust and ash as they washed across a corpse-scattered plateau. Gradually they picked up pace, invisible forces tugging at the flames that licked from wrecked main battle tanks, and causing billowing smoke to curl into sluggish vortices. A handful of living warriors remained on that arid mountaintop, Chaos Space Marines clad in the brutal armour of the Black Legion. They stood amidst the mounded dead of recent battle, a few of their own fallen scattered amongst heaps of Ultramar Defence Auxilia. The Traitors checked handheld scrying devices and raised spiked Bolters, panning their weapons as they sought the source of the aetheric buildup. Harsh voices barked challenges through fanged Vox grills, while sensors swept the cobalt-blue sky above and the hulking forms of mountains that rose beyond the plateau's edge. Still no enemy revealed themselves.

With sudden fury the building energies roared, hurling Heretic Astartes from their feet. The surging power was dragged inwards to a tight point, and there it coalesced into a lance of pure psychic energy. The air swam around it, and from within spat a hail of firepower. Roars of anger and pain rose from the Traitors as holy bolter-shells cut through armour and shattered eye lenses. Blood sprayed dark across sun-bleached stone. Severed limbs encased in black Power Armour clanged to the ground as ancient Heretics were cut to pieces by the sudden firestorm.

As the Chaos Space Marines reeled, the combined forces of the Horusian and Celestinian Crusaders burst from the warp-tear forced open by the Soulrender.

Marshal Marius Amalrich and Inquisitor Katarinya Greyfax stormed out of the tear side by side, blades lashing out to shed Heretic blood once more. The winged figure of Saint Celestine soared above them, her Geminae Superia leaping at her side with Bolt Pistols blazing. The Battle-Sisters of the Order of Our Martyred Lady followed them into battle, guns flaring as they spat fire at the traitorous foe. Behind them all came the Magos Belisarius Cawl, skittering on his many mechanical legs as his precious auto-reliquary trundled along behind him. Skitarii and Kataphron Battle Servitors advanced with him, and the ground shook at the tread of a pair of towering House Taranis Knights that brought up the rear.

The Black Legionaries did not panic at this sudden assault, as lesser warriors might have. Their numbers were few, however, and their attackers had the advantage of complete surprise. Mass-reactive bolts blew a handful of Skitarii apart, and two of Leman Russ' children were beaten down and bludgeoned to death at close quarters. The last of the Traitors fell back in good order, determined to bear word of what they had seen to their masters. It was not to be; none escaped the howling firestorm as the Knights braced their legs and let fly with gatling cannons and armour-piercing missiles. Fire billowed, shrapnel flew, and the fleeing Traitor Marines were reduced to bloody tatters.

As quickly as it had begun, the one-sided battle was over. The loyalists were left standing amongst the freshly fallen dead with their weapons smoking in their hands. Terse orders were given, warriors jogging out to establish a bristling perimeter of guns around the portal-site.

Thus shielded, the leaders gathered beneath the harsh blue sky. Questions needed to be asked, and facts established. The Imperial Vox channels were found to be thick with clipped exchanges between Space Marine officers, Defence Auxilia regiments, starship captains and countless others. All were clearly engaged in fierce battle against Chaos forces, with dread names such as the Black Legion, the Deathguard, the Alpha Legion, the Iron Warriors and the Emperor's Children ringing through the Vox. Palls of smoke rose from horizon to horizon, while the skies above were crisscrossed with contrails. Ultramar, it appeared, was a realm plunged into a desperate war for survival.

Hot winds hissed across the barren plateau, bearing the distant rattle of gunfire and thump of explosions to Katarinya Greyfax's ears.

"Macragge is invaded," she said dourly. "This is grave news."

"You are labouring under a misapprehension," said Cawl. "According to my internal gyro-cartolog, we do not stand upon the surface of Macragge. We are located one hundred and sixty million miles spinward of our intended destination, allowing for variable positioning and empyric distort."

"This is the world Laphis, in the star system of Macragge," Horus answered. "In order to proceed, we need only locate representatives of the Ultramarines present upon this world."

"And what if they are disinclined to lend us their assistance?" prodded Sister Eleanor, one of Celestine's Geminae Superia. "We walk with Lord Horus at our side, and come uninvited to their world. Are they not as like to shoot us as to offer welcome?"

"I trust the sons of Roboute." Horus replied, seemingly confident in his brother's offspring to have the capability to discern friend from foe. "They will know our cause is just."

* * *

At Saint Celestine's urging, the Crusade forces moved off through the Atheron Mountains. Events were moving quickly now, accelerating like a river in full flood tide, and the pilgrims did not have the luxury of time.

From the heights of the plateau, a broad, packed-earth roadway led down the mountainside. Wide enough for several Baneblades to pass side by side, the roadway angled steadily downward between taller mountain peaks, and its entire length was lined with ancient stone supports. Atop these stood sombre statues of robed figures with the unmistakably oversized features of Space Marines. Lit braziers in the statues' hands trailed streamers of incense, and the allies saw heaps of devotional offerings and prayer papers piled at the effigies' feet.

As they travelled, the Crusaders kept their weapons ready and their eyes fixed warily on the horizon. They threaded their way between occasional wrecked tanks and scattered corpses, both of Defence Auxilia and traitorous Chaos Cultists. The bodies looked to have fallen a matter of solar hours earlier, their blood still congealing around them and local insects only just beginning to settle, but the pilgrims saw no sign of living beings along their road, whether friend or foe.

Archmagos Cawl assured his comrades that they were travelling in a favourable direction, their road carrying them towards a large urban centre and - if his Vox-thieves and the local cartographia inloads were accurate - the Ultramarines fortification that watched over it. The extraordinary allies spoke little as they pressed on. They listened instead to the sighing of the wind through the high places, the crunch of their footfalls on dry earth, and the distant clamor of battle borne to them through the thin mountain air.

Those sounds grew suddenly louder as the road wound around the towering flank of a sun-scorched mountain. Ahead, less than a Terran mile distant, a ferrocrete bastion loomed over the roadway, built into the mountainside itself. The stylised U of the Ultramarines was embossed proudly upon the structure's flank, and twin Icarus Autocannon arrays swivelled back and forth atop its battlement, barrels pistoning as they hammered fire into the sky.

The barrage of shots was aimed at a brood of Heldrake Daemon Engines. The draconic war machines swooped and circled, diving down to gout baleflame across the bastion's ramparts before soaring away again with soul-chilling roars.

One of the Heldrakes broke off in the direction of the pilgrims. Marshal Amalrich was the first to react, yelling for everyone to spread out and run for the cover of the Imperial bastion.

The Knights of House Taranis swiftly overtook them all, their Noble pilots spurring their mechanical steeds into a loping run. The massive war engines shook the ground as they advanced, guns swivelling skywards with ominous menace. One of the Knights bore an Icarus Autocannon array atop its broad carapace, and as the Heldrake swooped into range, the towering construct let fly. Avenger Gatling Cannons and Heavy Stubbers joined the fusillade, filling the air with a storm of projectiles that ripped the wing from the approaching Daemon Engine and sent it spinning down to detonate against the mountainside. Another of the roaring Heldrakes was blown apart as it banked around to attack the pilgrims, while the third broke off its attack and jetted away into the hard blue skies, dwindling until it was nothing more than a speck.

The Knights stomped to a halt, weapons ticking as they cooled, and the rest of the pilgrims quickly caught up to them. Moments later, the armoured portal set into the bastion's feet hissed as its pressure-locks disengaged. The heavy door swung open and a trio of Ultramarines Battle-Brothers emerged, Bolters raised. The conversation that followed was tense, but measured discipline prevailed. Perhaps if the allies had come to a world of a less rational or temperate Chapter, matters might have escalated towards violence.

For the Ultramarines, the combined presence of an Inquisitor and the Living Saint - albeit appearing less than cordial towards one another - was enough to offset the presence of the Arch-traitor at their side. Although to the people of Cadia and the entire Segmentum Obscurus Horus was deemed forgiven of his sins against mankind, not all received a clear picture of his intentions since the broadcasted vid-feeds never reached the outlaying systems beyond Cadia Prime. To them, Horus was still the Arch-traitor who plunged the galaxy into this dark age.

Saint Celestine explained that their mission was a divine pilgrimage ordained by the Emperor Himself, and that Archmagos Cawl and his autoreliquary must reach the Lord of Ultramar with all haste. At this, they relented.

The Living Saint smiled in an entirely unsurprised fashion when the Ultramarines revealed that a flight of Stormravens was even now en route to their bastion. The gunships had been requested to provide air interdiction against the packs of Heldrakes harassing fortifications in this region. However, two gunships could be spared to transport the leaders of the Crusade up to the Strike Cruiser _Sword of Honour,_ which in turn could bear them on to Macragge. The Ultramarines explained that the Lord of Ultramar had, indeed, returned to the Fortress of Hera just solar days earlier. They would see Cawl and his allies there safely.

While they awaited the inbound gunships, the pilgrims split their forces.

As a gesture of good will to their hosts, Celestine asked the Battle-Sisters of Our Martyred Lady to remain on Laphis. Along with the Knights of House Taranis, they would place themselves at the disposal of the Ultramarines, and aid in the ongoing defence of the planet. So it was that, as the Ultramarines Stormravens burned hard for orbit just solar minutes later, they bore a much-reduced company up to the waiting Strike Cruiser.

Solar hours ran slowly into solar days. The omnipresent rumble of the ship's engines, and the sluggish stirring of artificial gravity and recycled air, became simple facts of existence. The astartes trained endlessly, even deigning to spar with Horus Lupercal himself. Inquisitor Greyfax, meanwhile - with the aid of Archmagos Cawl - was purged of the Necron Mindshackle Scarabs that had enforced her captivity. This process was effected over several solar days, and wracked the Inquisitor with terrible agonies as the invasive cyber-parasites were strained from her blood stream.

Despite the pain that she endured, Greyfax's iron will never faltered, nor did she show any but the most minor outward signs of pain. Instead, she concentrated on keeping a wary eye on Saint Celestine. In private, Greyfax was beginning to suspect that Celestine's apparent divinity was more than a sham. She had seen the Living Saint battle against Arch-heretics and twisted Traitors; she had seen her predict events about which she could not have known in advance; she had seen how the light of Celestine's faith repelled the wicked and brought new strength to the righteous. The same could be said of her opinions concerning the Penitent Son.

Yet Greyfax was an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, a Witch Finder whose first duty was to doubt and to suspect all that seemed fair in case it concealed foulness at its heart. In Greyfax's long experience, true miracles were few and far between, and that which seemed a gift from the Emperor was, more often than not, a tainted temptation laid by the Gods of Chaos. Thus, even as the seeds of hope grew in her heart that Celestine might be uncorrupted, and even through her own agonies, Katarinya Greyfax kept watch over the Living Saint, alert for the slightest hint of duplicity.

* * *

Entering the resting place of Roboute Guilliman was like stepping into some doleful warrior's afterlife. The chamber itself was enormous, a vaulted sepulchre through which a Warlord-class Battle Titan could have strode without hindrance. Marble columns held aloft a ceiling of stained armaglass and obsidian inlaid with theldrite moonsilver. Guilliman's greatest deeds were depicted in spectacular friezes and statuary, arranged around the chamber and lit artfully by flickering electrosconces to lend the images the greatest possible gravitas. Huge braziers of devotional incense burned throughout the shrine, lacing the air with subtle scents, while from cherub-visaged laud hailers spilled a steady background murmur of martial arias and reverent prayer.

Despite the grandeur of the shrine, the pilgrims' eyes were drawn to the splendid figure enthroned within a pool of stark white illumination at one end of the chamber. There, upon a throne of marble, gold and finely worked adamantium, sat Roboute Guilliman. Esoteric machineries loomed over the Primarch's throne, thrumming and whispering as they fed remarkable energies through ribbed cables to enfold him in a rippling stasis field. Guilliman sat as though in repose, his eyes closed and his blood glinting jewel-like in a delicate necklace about his throat. Guilliman wore his finely-crafted Power Armour, still marred by the damage it had sustained during his final duel with the Daemon Primarch Fulgrim. Across his knees was laid a grand blade of prodigious size, the "Emperor's Sword", once wielded by the hand of the Master of Mankind Himself. Though the Primarch sat peacefully upon his throne, the force of his presence was palpable.

The pilgrims approached the throne in reverent silence, their Ultramarines escort marching alongside them and Cawl's auto-reliquary at their rear. The group drew to a halt near the foot of the steps that led up to the Primarch, where countless Ultramarines had knelt in communion over the millennia. Marneus Calgar moved forward to stand at the very base of the steps, bowing his head reverently to his Primarch for a moment before turning to face the assembled pilgrims. The sounds of furious battle were still audible, even in this sacred place, muffled and distant but inescapable.

Heavy footsteps preceded the other Primarch present, and all parted to give way to Horus as he approached his brother's throne. His eyes took in the familiar face of his kin, and a smile of pure serenity crossed his lips as he beheld the Perfect Son.

Calgar drew a deep breath, and then asked once more for Belisarius Cawl to state his business here. The Chapter Master had indulged his visitors thus far, but with a desperate battle raging outside his fortress' walls, he could offer them no more time or patience.

Magos Cawl inclined his head, and told an incredible tale. Cawl explained that, in the years before Guilliman was mortally wounded, the Primarch had summoned him into his confidence. Cawl's memengrams of that meeting were eroded and incomplete, but he believed that Guilliman had seen in him the potential for great things. The Magos had been charged with a great labour by Roboute Guilliman, one for which he would be richly rewarded with information that only a Primarch could provide. Cawl stated that he was not at liberty to reveal the nature of his task, forestalling Calgar's angry response by explaining that his labours had been divided into two distinct parts, and that he was here to deliver on the first of those. He brought a magnificent new suit of armour fit for the Ultramarines Primarch, one whose ancillary systems possessed the power to heal Guilliman's grievous wounds.

Tigurius spoke in a calm voice after considering this revelation for some time, asking Lord Calgar to trust his counsel and saying once more that he had seen hints of this future in his visions. It was a scene of anger and confusion, but it was about to get worse.

Marneus Calgar's Vox chimed insistently in his ear. Angrily, the Chapter Master accepted the priority Vox hail, but his words of rebuke died on his lips. Calgar's voice boomed over the commotion, "Look out!" his shout of warning coming a split-second before the stained armaglass of the shrine's ceiling exploded inward.

Shattered crystal filled the air, shards the size of Storm Shields embedding themselves in walls, floor and armoured bodies. A huge shape smashed through into the shrine, a plummeting mass of blue metal travelling at the speed of a runaway mag-train. Hurtling down at an oblique angle, an Ultramarines Thunderhawk gunship slammed into the shrine's floor and skidded out of control. The aircraft was badly damaged, flames pouring from rents in its hull, one wing ripped away. It slewed drunkenly across the shrine's floor, away from the pilgrims and their Ultramarines guards, ploughing through a marble column and bringing it down in a thunderous avalanche of precious stone. The Thunderhawk slammed into the shrine's far wall, demolishing a statue of Guilliman battling Alpharius, before listing onto its side with a deafening clang.

Even as the stricken vehicle was settling to a stop, its assault ramp burst open with a shriek of torn metal. Spilling from within came Chaos Space Marines in twisted armour of black and gold, spiked Jump Packs melded to their backs and deafening war cries ringing from their Vox grills. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOODGOD!"

"Fall upon them!" Horus shouted, bisecting a traitor in two with one swipe of Soulrender. "They must not touch my brother!"

The Ultramarines responded with instant efficiency, Bolters and Assault Cannons roaring to life. A hail of shots ripped into the Black Legion Raptors, puffs of blood bursting from their avian forms as they jerked and danced amidst the fusillade. Still the Ultramarines were not quick enough to prevent catastrophe. Screaming their defiance, a trio of Raptors jetted through the rain of fire to slam spiked icons into the temple's floor. Tall spears of adamantium and iron, the icons were festooned with macabre trophies and anointed in daemonic gore. Empyric energies whirled around them, and reality rent apart with the calamitous thunder of teleportation flares.

As the surviving Raptors leapt clear, a hulking wedge of Black Legion Chaos Terminators appeared, dozens of elite killers clad in spiked and tusked Tactical Dreadnought Armour.

With exemplary discipline, the Ultramarines coolly shifted their aim. Bolts and blasts tore into the Black Legion Terminators, ringing from their armour with cacophonous fury. Yet these were chosen warriors imbued with the daemonic gifts of the Dark Gods. Though several of the massive Black Legionaries stumbled or fell, the rest shrugged off the salvo and began a grinding advance, firing back as they came.

Marneus Calgar looked about himself aghast. The Shrine of Guilliman, the sacred heart of the Ultramarines Chapter, had been profaned by the minions of Chaos. Already a thunderous gunfight was erupting, Ultramarines hurling themselves into cover, returning fire at their attackers from behind columns and statuary. It was clear to all that the enemy were driving for the fallen Primarch. Calgar was forcibly reminded of a prior warning given by Aldrik Voldus in the astropathic communiqué he had sent to Macragge telling the Ultramarines that the Grey Knights would be offering their aid because they feared that Chaos planned an assault that could impact the entire Imperium's future. Calgar was still deeply suspicious of Cawl, the Arch-Traitor and those who had accompanied them, yet here was a threat far clearer and more diabolical than them. With a stern demand that his visitors refrain from acting until he had the situation under control, the Chapter Master activated the energy fields around his Power Fists, known as the Gauntlets of Ultramar, and strode into the fight.

He was not alone. Turning from the shrine, Saint Celestine drew her Ardent Blade. With a hymn of battle upon her lips and her Geminae Superia at her side, the Living Saint leaped toward the foe. Amalrich did the same, bellowing oaths of hate as he and his last few Battle-Brothers ran headlong at the Black Legionaries.

Grand Master Voldus, too, moved to join the fight. He bit off orders into his Vox bead as he advanced, loosing shots from his Storm Bolter even as he called in reinforcement from his Grey Knights Battle-Brothers. The Imperial counterattack met the Black Legion assault in the middle of the shrine with a rending crash of metal on metal, and blood fell like rain as the two forces tore into one another.

All throughout the shrine, tales of heroism and sacrifice played out. Inquisitor Greyfax took a glancing shot to her ribs in the opening moments of the fight. The bolt shell dented her armour, driving the air from her lungs, but by the grace of the Emperor it failed to detonate. Greyfax, seeing black spots before her eyes, dropped hastily into the cover of a marble pew only a few dozen Terran feet from the base of Guilliman's throne. Sucking down several deep breaths, Greyfax leant around the edge of the pew and fired off a tight burst of shells from her Condemnor Bolter. The rounds roared across the shrine, punching into the faceplate of a Black Legion Raptor and blowing his helm apart in a bloody spray.

Nearby, Marneus Calgar and Grand Master Voldus fought side by side, weathering the thunderous blows of their hulking enemies as they smashed and impaled one Traitor after another. As Greyfax watched, Voldus loosed a ruinous shock wave of psychic force from his outstretched gauntlet, hurling a Chaos Terminator through the air to demolish another towering statue. Still the Traitors pressed forward, and as they did so new warriors appeared to fill the gaps in their ranks. Teleport energies flared again, clearing to reveal a trio of Terminator-armoured Black Legion Sorcerers, flanked by monstrous warriors of fleshmetal and living weaponry. At the same time, Dreadclaw Drop Pods plunged through the shattered armaglass above, slamming into the ground behind the advancing Black Legionaries. From within spilled more of Abaddon's chosen warriors, Heretic Astartes including bellowing Khorne Berzerkers charging forward to join the fray.

The Ultramarines stood their ground, despite being increasingly outnumbered. Veterans rattled volleys of fire into the advancing foe, ripping Black Legionaries off their feet or blasting them into glowing ash with bolts of plasma. Blue-armoured Terminators duelled with their blackarmoured counterparts, Heavy Flamers spewing fire across adamantium and ceramite as Power Fists delivered crushing blows. Marshal Amalrich and his brothers hurled themselves in alongside the Ultramarines, howling Chainswords and lashing Lightning Claws reaping a tally of Traitor lives. One Black Templar fell to a Chainfist's swipe, but still his brothers fought on.

Cawl hunched, spider-like, over the controls of his auto-reliquary. The Magos' metallic fingers danced across runic keys, his Mechadendrites slithering from one socket-port to another while the Skitarii stood guard over him. Beside them stood the Ultramarines Chief Librarian, Warp light glowing from his eyes and weaving around his skull-topped stave. As Greyfax watched, several frothing Berzerkers charged at Tigurius. The Librarian barked a string of syllables that caused the Khorne-worshippers to implode in a crumpled mass of flesh and metal.

Greyfax pushed herself to her feet again, intending to dash across the open ground and command Cawl to cease in the name of the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition. At that moment, a stitching line of Autocannon fire marched along the top of the pew. Explosions of fire and shrapnel burst around the Inquisitor, hurling her from her feet. Greyfax fired back at her attackers, lashing out with her telepathic powers as she did so, but she was - for the moment - pinned in place.

Marneus Calgar swung his right gauntlet in a punishing arc, hammering it up through his enemy's guard and catching a Chaos Terminator square under the jaw. His enemy's helm disappeared in a blizzard of metal and blood, his corpse slamming down onto its back with bone-breaking force. Before the Traitor even hit the ground, Calgar was already turning on the spot, both gauntlets held out from his body and bolters thundering. The Chapter Master revolved in a half-circle, blazing rounds into the Black Legionaries on every side and eviscerating another of them with explosive shells. Blocking the return swipe of a crackling Power Mace, Calgar prepared to swing another titanic blow into his enemies. Then he caught sight of movement at the base of Guilliman's throne, and cold horror clenched in his chest.

Calgar saw the Martian Tech-priest step back from his auto-reliquary with the air of one completing a satisfying task. The dome-shaped device hummed forward, unfurling like the petals of some huge, carnivorous flower. The watching Chapter Master was at the wrong angle to see inside the machine, but he had a fleeting impression of glowing energies, unfurling Mechadendrites, clamping pincer-limbs and whirring bone-drills that filled him with revulsion.

The auto-reliquary was rising and stretching out, enfolding the Primarch's form in its metallic embrace.

"No!" bellowed Calgar, finding his voice. "I command you to stop! In the Emperor's name, Brother Tigurius, stop them!" The Chapter Master's dismay rose to new heights as Tigurius looked straight at him, and shook his head.

"Do it!", shouted the Chief Librarian, blazing psychic energies into the foe that pressed close all around. "And may the Emperor condemn me if you have played me false."

The auto-reliquary engulfed Roboute Guilliman and his throne entirely, runic designators and auto-lumen flickering in mesmerising patterns across its surface. As though spurred by the sight, the Black Legionaries redoubled the intensity of their attack. Horus, on the other hand, merely smiled at that satisfying turn of events.

Bellowing war cries, the Black Legion Terminators drove hard into their foes. Marneus Calgar was pushed back by his enemies, his battle plate cracked by the crunching blow of a Power Maul. Braving the Chapter Master's lashing gauntlets, a band of Traitor Terminators surrounded him entirely so that their brethren could break away towards the auto-reliquary. Gunfire echoed thunderously around the shrine as the Traitors let fly into Cawl's unfolded device. Bolts and shells alike exploded harmlessly as they struck hardened void shielding, unable to punch through the Archmagos' data-wards to damage the device behind.

The last of the Raptors formed into a single talon and bounded across the shrine. Their Jump Packs howled, and terrifying screams burst from their Vox grills. They were met by a thin line of Ultramarines Veterans, the Loyalist Astartes abandoning cover to interpose themselves between the Chaos assault troops and Guilliman's throne with Bolters blazing. Several Raptors fell, but the Ultramarines paid for their bravery as the enemy's Obliterators opened fire. Plasma blasts and Lascannon beams smashed the Veterans from their feet, reducing chest cavities to blackened craters and helmed heads to scatters of ash.

All across the shaking temple, the dwindling forces of the Imperium fought like lions to hold back their foes. Celestine still hacked and cut, span and leapt, leaving a trail of slain Black Legionaries in her wake. Archmagos Cawl sent blasts of searing energy ripping through the Chaos ranks while intoning binharic psalms to fortify his allies' weapons and wargear. Marshal Amalrich, accompanied now by just two remaining Sword Brethren, fought tirelessly atop a heap of Black Legion corpses. Teleport energies flared once more and a squad of Grey Knights Paladins flashed into being, bolstering their Grand Master's psychic defences with their own.

Horus was a magnificent sight on his own, as if reliving the days of his youth fighting alongside so many of his brothers and sons. Yet there was a certain desperation in every swing of his spear, for 'twas not a mere battle he fought today but a moment that would define him for all time. Roboute was no friend of his, that was much obvious in the days of the Great Crusade, but he was his brother nonetheless- he would protect him to his dying breath.

* * *

A single chime sounded, a clear, pure note that cut through the clangour like a knife. The next moment, the outstretched armatures of the auto-reliquary folded back with a gaseous hiss to reveal a sight of breathtaking splendour.

Where before Roboute Guilliman had sat, a pale, stasis-locked revenant, now the Primarch stood awake, alert and very much alive. His presence was immense, dominant as a thunderhead suddenly filling the shrine with its crushing pressure. Guilliman was clad in a magnificent new suit of Power Armour, an ornate masterwork that had travelled all the way from the forges of Mars within Cawl's auto-reliquary. In one hand the Ultramarines Primarch held the Emperor's Sword, lit now from hilt to tip with leaping flames, and in his eyes was a look of such murderous intensity that even the Loyalists within the shrine quailed to see it.

Only Horus spoke in the lull of that moment, and even he was reluctant to break the silence. "Roboute. My brother."

 **}!{**


	16. Forgiven

**}!{**

The Primarch's first blow threw a Black Legionary high into the air, blood streaming behind the corpse in a red trail. His second strike smashed a Traitor Terminator into a bronze and marble column with enough force to drive the Chaos worshipper clean through it, and out the other side. A spiked Power Fist swung for Guilliman's chest, only to be lopped from its wielder's arm before the blow could land. Guilliman's return swing parted his attacker's head from his shoulders, cauterising the stump of the Traitor's neck as the body crumpled to the floor.

On it went, the Primarch moving with such speed that even the Heretics' superhuman reactions couldn't save them.

For Guilliman, his last memory was a desperate battle against a tainted brother, a fraternal contest of godlike strength and barbed, hateful taunts - then poison and pain beyond endurance. Now he found himself in strange surroundings, facing a twisted horde of creatures that were nightmarish parodies of the Adeptus Astartes ideal. And worse- he now stood face to face with the brother who started it all.

His gaze turns cold as he beheld the Lupercal, a stark contrast to the look Horus had on his own. A thousand questions rose up like a tidal wave within the Primarch's mind, a thousand enough to drown him. The exchange between the Primarchs were little more than the fleeting glances and the unspoken thoughts circling like vultures in their minds.

The Black Legionaries continued to hurl themselves at the reborn Lord of Ultramar, clearly willing to sustain any amount of casualties if it meant laying Guilliman low. Yet they were laughably outmatched in almost every regard. Sweeping the Emperor's Sword in wide arcs, firing off hammering volleys from the Hand of Dominion, the Primarch reaped a bloody tally as he drove the Traitors back. As they retreated, so the prone form of Marneus Calgar was revealed, his armour cracked and his face beaten bloody. Guilliman paused for a moment in his rampage, looking down upon this fallen son with an unreadable expression on his face.

Calgar stirred, one eye opening to look up at the Primarch reborn. Satisfied that his scion lived, Guilliman pressed on, leaving the fallen Chapter Master to stare in disbelief at his resurrected gene-sire.

By the time reinforcements reached the Temple of Correction, the fighting was done. Every single Ultramarine who rushed into that vaulted space dropped to their knees in worshipful awe at the sight of their Primarch reborn.

It was here that words were exchanged between the two demigods. Guilliman, hiding his anger beneath a veneer of calm, slowly turned his gaze back to the traitor who plunged the whole galaxy into the dark age once more. The thousand questions rose up once more, and they came crashing down as soon as Horus broke the silence.

"Roboute, my brother."

At this, Guilliman let out a building roar of pure, undiluted fury. His gauntleted hand clenches around his father's sword and falls upon the Wolf of Terra with blinding speed. Horus moves just as quickly and raises Soulrender to defend himself, leaping backwards as the enraged Primarch lets out another strike. Overtaken by the raw emotion of betrayal, and indescribable rage, Guilliman hacks away at his brother like a madman, totally oblivious to the fact that his actions undermined his character's supposed exemplary discipline and self-restraint that defined his Legion as much as the others who had followed the _Codex's_ doctrine. Without a single stable thought to his desire to split the Arch-traitor in two, it proved to be enough of a flaw for Horus to exploit, and he disarms Roboute with a deft twist of his spear- ridding the Primarch of his sword.

But Guilliman was not to be stopped. With a bestial scream, reminiscent of Angron of the Worldeaters, Roboute leaps forward and slams his fist into Horus' unprotected face. Horus doesn't even move to stop him at this point, instead opening his arms in a beckoning gesture as one would gladly accept punishment, and welcomes Guilliman's wrath. Blow after blow rains down heavily on the downed Primarch while all watched in shocked silence.

None dared to come between the rivaling demigods, none wished to defy either one of them.

Bruises and cuts formed over Horus' cheeks and forehead as Roboute relentlessly pounds at him, but the pain was dulled by the thought of how he deserved this. Everything Guilliman knew was gone, replaced by the madness and horror of a future he had tried so desperately to prevent ten thousand standard years before, and it was all his fault.

When hitting him proved to be insufficient, Guilliman bellowed out a cry of frustration, then put his hands over his brother's throat. His eyes blazed with the fires of oblivion, staring deep into those brown orbs that had once looked upon him with kinship- now marred by the memory of betrayal. Growling and snarling like a maddened dog, Roboute finally spat the words from his mouth, "You dare to call me brother?! YOU DARE TO SHOW YOUR FACE TO ME, AFTER WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?!" His grip tightens, "DID YOU THINK I WOULD WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS?!"

* * *

On Terra, upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor of Mankind watches from beyond the veil of reality the tense exchange between his two sons. Although he was glad that Roboute has returned from his long sleep, he was not at all pleased with his son's reaction to Horus' return. Something had to be done, that much was certain, for he knew Guilliman would be too stubborn to listen should anyone intervene with his desire to kill Horus.

Anyone, that is, save for the Emperor himself.

* * *

"ANSWER ME!" Guilliman thundered, raising his fist and bringing it back down upon his enemy.

"No." Horus rasped, spitting the blood out from his mouth. "But this comes close to what I envisioned." He places his hands upon those that gripped so tightly upon his neck, "If you want revenge, Roboute, take it." A thousand others would give anything to be where Guilliman stood, upon Horus with hands wrapped around his throat, ready to choke out the life from the man who brought the Imperium low.

And yet, he too was the man who came to them in their darkest hour.

Ashamed of her hesitance to come to Horus' aid after all he had done for her aboard the _Planetkiller_ , Saint Celestine finally intervenes. "My lord! I beg of you, don't!" Loyalty, that was what the noble Sgt. Aggregius held for the Penitent Primarch, and now the Saint bears it as well. Her words were reminiscent of that day when she tested the Primarch's convictions, "Horus Lupercal is not our enemy! Not yours, not mine, but an enemy of the Ruinous Powers! The Emperor decreed it so!"

Roboute was livid, but calmed down enough to gauge this revelation, and his grip falls lax enough to let his brother breathe. "Speak plainly, whoever you are."

Celestine had yet to bear her name when the veil between realities was split aside, giving way to the Emperor's astral form! His voice was a storm, wrathful and unrelenting as one might batter the palisades of an old castle. **"She is Celestine! She is my daughter, as you are my son!"** The Emperor, of course, meant the title in an endearing and sentimental manner, but nevertheless brought a swell of pride within the Saint's heart at her god's acknowledgement. What greater honor would be there besides the Emperor's recognition?

At the sight of their god walking amongst them and gracing them with his presence, all fell to their knees and worshiped the Emperor's astral form. Fervent murmurs of prayers and mutters of jubilant adoration were sounded, although they were all ignored by the Emperor as he rebuked his wayward son. **"Roboute Guilliman, I command you to unhand your brother this instant!"**

Roboute's eyes were wide with astonishment, and the cogs in his mind stopped turning for a moment. His mouth opened and closed twice over, then he follows as bidded, bowing his head respectfully as he moves off of Horus.

"Impeccable timing as always, father." Horus muttered gratefully, wincing at the aching spots formed over his face from Guilliman's beatings.

 **"Let this be the last time anyone dares to move against Horus Lupercal!"** The Emperor declared sternly, eyes falling upon those who had doubt lurking in their hearts. **"All of you, heed my words! I have sent my son on a mission to bring mankind back from the brink! Hinder or disrupt him in any way, you will answer to me!"** The astral projection must be brief, the Emperor knew this. He wanted to say more, but he could only hold on for so long. **"That goes for you as well, Roboute. Restrain your anger and see reason. I don't need another petty squabble coming from you."**

"Yes, father."

 **"And as for you, Horus, I did not bring you back from the Warp only to have you reduce yourself to...whatever this is. I have never disowned you as the Imperium has, that should be enough! Carry out your duty and let nothing stop you."** The astral projection fades as quickly as it forms, leaving the onlookers bewildered and blinking in disbelief over what just happened. Amidst the murmur of excited onlookers, Roboute, though somewhat calmed by his father's words of rebuke, showed resentment as he addressed his brother. Each word was weighed down by the fires of vengeance still alight upon his heart, but at last he broke the silence.

"What are your needs, brother?" He placed duty above passion, just as Aggregius had done on Ibrium. No doubt the Primarch's words tasted like foul acid in his mouth as he called him 'brother', but the mere fact that Roboute was willing to put aside his anger for the cause was enough for Horus, and he took what was offered.

There will be harsh words exchanged between them in private, that much was certain.

* * *

Guilliman made straight for the fortress' strategium, and - in a dramatically charged moment that would become enshrined in statuary - formally accepted command of the defence from First Captain Agemman. Marneus Calgar stood at his Primarch's side during this exchange, sorely wounded and supported by two Honour Guards, yet determined to be present all the same. Guilliman showed his nobility by humbly requesting the Chapter Master's leave to assume full command of the Ultramarines at that time. Calgar shrugged off his Battle-Brothers and, grimacing in pain, knelt before his gene-sire. He matched Guilliman's solemnity as he offered unending fealty to the Primarch, and bequeathed full control of the Chapter to him in perpetuity.

Like an impresario settling before his instrument, Guilliman spread his hands upon the strategium table and took a deep breath before beginning to command. With his every utterance, the invaders' plight became more apparent. The Primarch's strategic acumen, his tactical genius and miraculous mental acuity were unmatched. The leaders of the Ultramarines looked on in amazement as Guilliman marshalled the defenders like regicide pieces, drinking in reams of strategic data and issuing a steady stream of orders that turned one fight after another in the defenders' favour. Calgar and his lieutenants had executed a superhuman campaign of defiance against the invaders, but the Primarch was operating on a different mental plane.

At Guilliman's command, thunderous overlapping firestorms and interlaced webs of interceptor strikes cleared the airspace over the Fortress of Hera. No longer threatened from above, Ultramarines reserves and vast numbers of Defence Auxilia flowed into the fight in masterful deployment patterns. Feints, ambushes, false retreats and sudden, overwhelming counterattacks ripped through the Chaos forces and drove them from within the fortress' grounds. Guilliman wielded hundreds of thousands of warriors at once, predicting every move his enemies made and countering before they had even thought to act.

By the time the Primarch and his coterie strode out to lead the fight in person, the Chaos attackers were reeling in disarray. The attack led by Guilliman into the heart of their lines was like a final bolt round placed between the eyes of a wounded enemy. Black Legionaries, Iron Warriors, Alpha Legion and Night Lords - all were hurled back from the walls. Traitor Titans toppled like vast, flaming trees to smash down in ruin. Just three solar hours after his resurrection, Roboute Guilliman concluded the wholesale purge of Chaos invaders from the Fortress of Hera, and confidently proclaimed the Ultramarines' stronghold secure.

There now came a time where breath could be drawn, and stock taken. Even as lumbering Servitors and Chapter Serf work gangs laboured to shore up the fortress' battered defences, Guilliman summoned a select company to attend him in the Chapter Master's sanctum. This had long been the domain and throne room of Marneus Calgar. Now it would become the sanctum of the Primarch himself, and it was here that he was formally invested as Lord of Ultramar and Master of the Ultramarines once more. Calgar, Tigurius, Agemman and their closest lieutenants were present for Guilliman's elevation, as were representative brothers from every company of the Chapter. The Celestinians, too, attended Guilliman's formal coronation, the Saint herself ceremonially bestowing her blessings upon the Primarch.

Horus beheld the ceremony from afar, obscured in the rear from sight as his brother took the throne of Ultramar, and smiled with silent approval.

As the ceremony concluded, Guilliman rose and addressed the assembly. There was much to be done, and countless questions to which the Primarch required answers. Before he could act further, Roboute Guilliman needed to know everything that had occurred during his long absence.

* * *

"Thousands of years have passed.", he said. "And look what has become of them. Of us. Idolatry. Ignorance. Suffering and squalor, in the name of a god who never desired the title."

Guilliman shook his head and stood, pacing across the Chapter Master's sanctum to stare up at the banners hanging on the western wall. Each was the height of an Imperial Knight, a cascade of masterfully woven cloth depicting the glories of the Ultramarines. Slain alien beasts, executed Heretic despots, worlds saved and worlds burned. The Chapter's proud iconography was much in evidence, but so was the Aquila of the Imperium and there, presiding over several of the heraldic designs, a figure with throne and halo who must surely be the Emperor. He murmured, unsure to whom he spoke. He knew only that he had to vocalise his situation before it drove him mad. Not for the first time since his return, Guilliman wished for one of his brothers to speak with.

They, at least, might have understood.

Alas, he was left with the one, the only one whose face brought fresh thoughts of ill intent and invoked murderous desire.

"Step out of the shadows, Warmaster!" Roboute growled, that title of honor ringing hollow through his words. He had already dealt his share of blows, it was time for a more disciplined exchange. "You stand where all others have left. I assume you wish to break words with me?"

"Frankly, I find myself debating the decision." Horus answered, revealing himself to his brother in the throneroom. "I would wish it so, but are you in the balanced state of mind?"

"I am." Roboute leaned back, interlocking his gauntleted fingers together as he gauged the Lupercal from atop the gilded throne. "But my patience is thin. Say what you have to, and begone. Father placed a heavy burden upon both our shoulders- to fix the damage you've caused Mankind with your ambitions- I will not have each hour wasted."

Horus nodded, "That I shall tend to once I've said my piece."

"Then speak." The Primarch of Ultramar bade him, albeit begrudgingly. "I am listening."

"You are angry with me, and you are justified in being so." Horus began, saying the words that the Emperor failed to say in his brief intervention earlier that day. "I know what I have done, and though it sounds like a coward's excuse- my actions then were brought upon by the Hand of Chaos. Were I a lesser man I would've refused to own it, but I am not, for I am a Primarch."

Roboute's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Father rended my soul from existence the final day I laid siege to Terra- a mercy that I did not deserve." Horus reflected on that fateful moment in his past- their past. "He brought me back from oblivion- a pardon I did not deserve. Words cannot describe the agony in my soul as I behold what has become of the Imperium, of what has become of Mankind. For my sins, I deserve to be killed a thousand times over! But I am here, brother. Father has forgiven me, where all others have forsaken me. If you question my convictions, you only need to look to that." Horus paused, swallowed the lump in his throat as tears formed at the tips of his eyelids. "I fight not only to redeem myself before you and all of Mankind, I fight for the love of my father- our Emperor and Maker. Perhaps I will never earn your forgiveness, nor shall I have the bonds of brotherhood between us as the days of the Great Crusade. Perhaps that too, I do not deserve. But I shall forge onward, nevertheless."

Having emptied his heart of the weight of words, Horus took his leave and turned towards the doors leading to the outer halls of the palace, but was stopped by Roboute's call. "Horus, wait!"

The Lupercal gulped, expecting a bolt-round to be relinquished through his skull any moment.

"There's hope still," Roboute's footfalls thunder across the floor, "Even for you." He stared out at the work gangs through the window, labouring to repair the damage of war, and the Ultramarines stood proud and determined upon the ramparts. "I see those who follow you; the Sons of Leman Russ, the Sons of Dorn, the Blood Angels and the Templars. I see Celestine, Saint of the Ecclesiarchy. I look upon them and a revelation dawns on me. They had been born into this dark millennium, and had known nothing but the hardship, suffering and despair of unending conflict. Yet still they struggled on unbowed, despite the countless enemies ranged against them." He stared straight into the eyes of his penitent brother, "You condemned them into this fate, that is true. But if they are willing to forgive your transgressions. What right have I, a superhuman son of the Emperor himself, to show any less compassion than these who were born in darkness?"

Horus dared to smile as Roboute finally lets go of the anger that burned in his heart.

"I forgive you, brother." Guilliman laid his hand upon the Lupercal's shoulder. "Let us bury the past and look to the future. There is much to be done, but I am grateful to have you standing by me."

The brothers turned from the palace and joined the Crusaders waiting outside. "If it makes you feel better, you can hit me again." Horus joked.

"Heh, don't tempt me."

 **}!{**


	17. Defense Ultima

**Just saw Battlefleet Gothic Armada 2, now I'm verging on hype-overload! This just makes me all the more determined to finish the first book, and so I shall. The Ultramar Campaign's underway!**

 **}!{**

 _An icon will fall._

 _A god will awaken._

 _A Primarch will rise._

Yvraine, Prophetess of the Ynnari, shared that troubling vision with Eldrad Ulthran of Craftworld Ulthwe. Peering into the many directions the winds of time may take was a taxing endeavor, all necessary to understand what fate must the Aeldari seize. The Dark Emissary of Ynnead, now allied with the Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe, remained confused at the many things she saw, unable to comprehend the events that would surely follow in the years to come.

She foresaw the return of Horus Lupercal, the Monster of Cthonia and Butcher of Ullanor, one of the greatest enemies of the Imperium of Man. Plucked from the abyss by the Mon'Kei Emperor, his very involvement in the battle for Cadia changed the course of history in ways no mortal mind could understand.

 _The galaxy will burn._

She saw a vision of what might have been, had he remained lost in the Warp. Where Cadia fell before the might of the Despoiler, where the Eye of Terror swallowed up the world and split the cosmos in two. Ultramar was next, and only through the timely intervention of the Ynnari did the Celestinians have hope of seeing tomorrow.

Through the hand of Ynnead, Roboute Guilliman awoke, brought back from the brink to lead the beleaguered forces of mankind against the coming apocalypse. She saw them standing side by side, fending off the forces of the Enemy until the wrath of Abaddon was swayed. An alliance of Aeldari and Mon'kei? Unthinkable! But through this path of fate began the long road that would inevitably plunge the galaxy into oblivion.

Their involvement sparked a chain of events that led into the death of the human race, birthing a new god of Chaos that meant doom for all life in the galaxy.

"There is more." Eldrad whispered, sensing his companion retreat from the revelations. "Stay with me, that you may understand."

Yvraine took a deep breath, then closed her eyes, opening her mind once more to the visions of fate.

She saw the future of this path of time, where Horus has redeemed himself in the eyes of his people, uniting mankind once more as in the days of the Great Crusade. He was different now, open-minded in a way that she could never think a human could be. From here, the vision became clouded and uncertain. Yvraine saw Horus leading the forces of the Imperium across the galaxy, claiming it all for mankind and trampling all beneath the iron treads of the Imperial War Machine.

She saw the Emperor, mortal form decaying from the parasitic energies of the Golden Throne yet growing in strength in the Warp. At his command, Horus marched deep into the realm of Nurgle. He took the goddess Isha from her prison, spirited her away from the God of Rot, and brought her before his father. With the Aeldari Goddess of Life at his side, the Emperor's mortal body regained vitality, and so remained in the material universe to further guide his people. With the Emperor at the helm, the God of Rot was slain, his reign over Death and perverse vitality ended as the Pestilent Realm was shattered to the core, his very essence serving as fuel for the new gods of the Imperium.

"Impossible." Yvraine murmured, amazed and horrified at the notion that the Emperor was able to accomplish such a feat. A Dark God, one of the Ruinous Powers, killed? Could that even happen?

She saw her people, the Ynnari, ally themselves in desperation with the Imperium when they could not face She-Who-Thirsts alone. Here, the vision grew ever more clouded, and Yvraine decided she had had enough.

The Prophetess' heels clacked loudly in that empty chamber as she paced around, still coming to terms at what she had seen. "There is no third path? Our involvement shall be the death of us all? Is that the fate of our people, and our hope lies solely on mankind?"

"It is difficult to grasp, I know this personally when I first saw the vision." Eldrad replied. "The matter no longer involves choice, we can only act as fated."

* * *

The first steps had been taken upon the road of reconquest. Macragge was free of Chaos taint. Guilliman wished to press on, consumed by his desire to drive the Ruinous Powers from Ultramar. However, those he led needed time to regroup and consolidate. Countless wounded required attention. Hundreds of war machines needed repair.

Guilliman was wise enough to give his followers the time they needed. Meanwhile, Imperial reinforcements gathered around Macragge. Braving the Warp Storms raging through local space, Space Marine craft by the dozen assembled above the Ultramarines homeworld. Delegations from many Primogenitor Successor Chapters of the Ultramarines had ploughed through the Empyrean, risking terrible danger to see for themselves that the Primarch had returned. Novamarines, Sons of Orar, Genesis Chapter and countless others joined the growing throng, kneeling before the Primarch and swearing allegiance to him.

Horus was not with him at the time, having busied himself with other matters regarding the borders outlaying the fringes of Subsector Ultramar. Celestine was with him too, offering her battlesisters to back up the Primarch as he cleared world after world of Chaos invaders.

While the armies of the Ultramar Reconquest were gathering, a further opportunity presented itself. It was the Arch-Consul of Magna Civitas - the closest Ultramar had to a conventional Planetary Governor - who suggested that a grand victory parade could be held, and its majesty recorded on pict casts to be sent far and wide through the Imperium. The Consul said that people needed the light of hope in this dark hour, a shining example of victory to renew their faith not just in the Emperor, but in Guilliman reborn.

The Primarch acceded to this demand, though it sat ill with his bleak inner mood. Guilliman saw the wisdom in it, but he accepted such aggrandisement only grudgingly. Mere solar days after victory was declared, a grand triumph swept up from the Titan Gate to the very steps of the Fortress of Hera. Thousands of war engines and millions of warriors presented their colours and raised cheers and horn blasts to the skies. A seething sea of the city's residents packed the crater-pocked processionals and plazas to watch the proceedings, and voices beyond count rang out as one to cry Guilliman's praise in a single deafening roar.

Standing upon a marble-columned platform with his closest lieutenants at his side, the Primarch dutifully presented the most magnificent spectacle he could for the assembled masses. The Arch-Consul himself presented Guilliman with a stunningly wrought laurel wreath crafted in gold, urging the Primarch to don the gilded crown at once. The moment Guilliman did so, he found his mind filled with thoughts of future glories. This paltry triumph would be nothing compared to the breathtaking spectacle of his galactic conquest. The Primarch's armies would be beyond number, their adoration for their heroic lord so great that they would die for him gladly. Planets, systems, whole Segmentums would be renamed in honour of he who had liberated them, and the whipped dogs of Chaos would flee before him like the curs they were. Statues would be raised to commemorate Guilliman's majesty, and eventually even the Golden Throne of Terra itself would be his to mount. The Emperor's most loyal son deserved no less an inheritance, and he would have his due.

It was this last thought that wrenched Guilliman from the wreath's insidious curse. With a gasp, he tore the gilded crown from his head and bellowed a command for the Arch-Consul to be restrained. It was Grand Master Voldus who grabbed the robed dignitary, and as his blessed gauntlets touched the man's flesh it sizzled and crisped. The din of the triumph was colossal, an ocean swell of noise that hid the Arch-Consul's shrieks as the illusions that veiled him were unmade.

Guilliman and his lieutenants recoiled at the misshapen mutant thing that was revealed. Bulbous and deformed, the keening, fleshy abomination wore a glowing amulet about its neck on a thong of human skin. As Guilliman stared in disgust at this cursed fetish, he heard a susurration hissing within his mind that he had not heard since that fateful encounter on Thessala ten millennia before.

In mocking tones, Fulgrim welcomed Guilliman back to his beloved Imperium. _"Greetings, brother. I see you have recovered from that lovely slit I've made in your throat. Alas, I am disappointed that you've rejected my gift. The Crown of Glories would've improved that shabby excuse of armor that adorns your body."_ Many heroes great and pure had fallen to the trinket's blandishments, and Fulgrim had hoped that he could corrupt Guilliman in the same fashion. Yet the Slaaneshi Daemon Prince assured his brother that this was but the first of endless temptations that Guilliman would have to face. Laughing cruelly, he taunted that the Lord of Ultramar would never be able to trust any feeling of triumph or self-satisfaction again.

Disgusted, Guilliman drove his sword through the amulet and into the hideous creature that bore it, silencing the voice of the damned brother who had laid him low millennia past. Yet as the triumph rumbled on, Fulgrim's words continued to echo in Guilliman's mind. They would do so for many solar days to come.

* * *

Within the Realm of Pestilence, the Goddess of Life prepared herself for another session with her tormentor.

Yet, compared to the past millennia spent in that rusted cage, Isha found an inexplicable ebb of strength pulsate within her fading soul. Where once she consigned herself into this horrid fate of endless torture, pain and suffering, she now glared at the God of Rot with faint but existent defiance.

Nurgle grinned, showing the mass of yellow fangs lining the wide maw on his face, and held a bowl of freshly boiled broth extracted from the bloated livers hanging beside the Great Cauldron. Another gift for his lovely companion. His bulk slides across the cracked floor of the room, leaving an overpowering stench in the muck left in his wake as he approached the cage.

 _ **"Open wide, my dear."**_ Grandfather Nurgle guffawed.

Isha retreats further into her cage, pushing herself far into the bars until the rusted edges bit into her skin. "No! Stay away from me!"

The Chaos god's frame covers the cage as he pulls the door open, the ugly smile on his putrid face never leaving as he grabs a fistful of the goddess' hair and pulls her inward. _**"Just a sip, come now."**_ He chuckles evilly, amused as the goddess struggles futilely to free herself from his grip. The bowl comes to her face, the fumes reaching deep into her flaring nostrils, but her mouth remains closed.

Annoyed now, Nurgle lets go of her hair and grabs on to her chin. The very touch of the God of Disease overwhelmed the aura protecting the goddess' flesh, and her cheek shriveled and rotted right under his fingers, opening the way for the gift to be poured through her clenched teeth!

Isha screamed in agony and retched at the foul taste of the acrid concoction. Nurgle lets go once the last drop was given, and shuts the cage, pausing to watch as the new disease takes form within the goddess' body. The smile on his face grows as tears fall uncontrollably from Isha's eyes, starting from mere trickles to rivers of crystalline waters that soon turned red with blood.

Her eyes puffed and turned dark crimson, festering then rotting completely from her sockets.

Through this new trial, the goddess found new strength and prevailed, impressing her captor by her resilience and judged that his new disease was worthy of dispensing into the material realm. Little did he know the seed of hope sprouting within the goddess' heart, of the image of the Emperor in her mind and of the memory of his touch. The cleansing aura restored her body, and Isha fell slack upon the bars, breathing heavily from her exertions.

With faint whispers, the goddess relayed the secrets to countering the new plague Nurgle was about to introduce to the world of men. With the fraying remnants of her powers, she reached out to the Primarch upon Parmenio.

* * *

Horus knelt upon the sands and reached down, taking a clump of the golden grains and grounded them between his fingers.

"You seem troubled, Horus."

"Oh, it is nothing." The Primarch replied, rising from the dust to greet the Saint. "Just remembering an old friend, of times past and what could have been."

The sands blow past his legs as the angel's wings flutter to bring Celestine down to solid ground, "You are thinking of Aggregius, am I wrong to assume as much?"

Horus nodded, "No, you land on proper footing. His loss leaves an ache in my heart that refuses to depart. I know I must focus on the task at hand, but still I grieve nonetheless. I've met many a man with a valorous heart as his, but few minds as the sergeant, he would've been proud to see Cadia still standing and the return of my brother Guilliman."

"Indeed. You have spoken with the Lord of Ultramar?"

"Yes, I have." Horus answered, "Things are better now between me and my brother. Now, all I have to do is wait for him to build his forces so we may move on in search of the other Primarchs."

"Do you have a plan where to head next?"

"At the moment I'm still thinking about it." Horus confessed, "I have yet to find reliable intel on the whereabouts of my brothers. If I have to guess, I will keep an eye on where the forces of Chaos converge on the most among the sectors. They will undoubtedly be as determined as we are in hunting down the remaining Primarchs."

"Or rather, to be precise, they will come to you." Celestine pointed out with a humorous smirk. "Your victories across the Segmentum Obscurus has earned you more than your fair share of hatred."

"Both within and without the Imperium." Horus agreed, "Either way works to the benefit of mankind. Traitor legions will fall before us, no matter their numbers or how far the Chaos gods extend their favor." A moment of silence was shared between the crusaders, a moment spent admiring the beauty in the landscape around them. "My my, what a sight. When I was young, spending the remainder of my youth alongside my father, he took me to places like this."

Celestine listened intently, receiving the rare insight on the nature of her god.

"It even reminds me of home." Horus said, gazing longingly across the plains of Parmenio. "Of beautiful Cthonia." The feral world was by all means inhospitable and far from beautiful, but not to the Primarch who called the colony home. Horus saw the good things in that violent hive-colony, having grown with the rabble and knowing the humble ground upon which the common folk treaded on day to day. It's all gone now, of course, all gone. But the memory lives on in the young clone. "I was sad to leave it behind, but my duty as a son is stronger than my attachment to home."

His eyelids lowered as his thoughts grew wistful, "I wish I never let my ambition blind me. What could have been...had I not veered from the path of righteousness? So many years wasted, so many souls lost..."

"My lord, do not give in to despair." Celestine said unto the saddened Primarch, "Remain with the happy memories, and let these be your guide. Dark days are upon us, and God-Emperor knows it will only get worse. Let not the Enemy find a tool to use against you."

Horus nodded again, "Yes, you are right. Thank you, Saint."

The two ventured back to the landing site where seven Thunderhawks awaited, bearing battle-brothers hailing from successor chapters of the Ultramarines. Guilliman had ordered a large detachment to accompany Horus in his mission ridding the subsector of remaining Chaos warbands to secure Ultramar until the gathering of forces was complete. Once that was done, their next goal will be to search for one of the two Primarch brothers based on the most accurate of reports.

The shadow of the Ravenlord was said to loom over the Eye of Terror, now a narrow slit in realspace by the nullifying effects of the Cadian Pylons. A bloody trail left in the wake of what could only be the remnant battle-brothers of the Space Wolves 13th Company. As told by the Chapter Master Logan Grimnar, their brother Leman Russ had disappeared through the Eye years before Corvus decided to embark on his long voyage of penance, a quest to find the Tree of Life to heal their broken father. These reports were not born of mere speculation, and the two brother Primarchs took them very seriously. Should Corvus ever halt his voyage of penance and return to realspace, their forces should undoubtedly be ready to receive him. Hope, of course, sprung to life in the hearts of the Ravenguard Chapter, its astartes brethren growing eager to meet their gene-sire once again.

Plans were laid out and relayed to the subordinates, Horus led the Imperial planetary defense forces of Parmenio to eradicate the Chaos traitor fleets lurking in the dark corners of the subsector. The derelict voidships were put to the torch, and interplanetary outposts were set up along the major traffic routes leading to and from the Segmentum Ultima. This came as great news to the Lord of Ultramar, and it pleased him to know his trust was well placed.

Then tragedy, as always, struck when such good fortunes seemed to pour generously.

A plague, virulent as is the nature of Nurgle's gifts, took hold of the populace and the loyalist soldiers at Horus' command. Throughout the Drohl, Talassar and Parmenio Systems, Ultramar Defence Auxilia found themselves weeping uncontrollably. In the midst of battle, warriors were blinded by endless streams of viscous, stinking tears that gummed their eyes open and soon turned them red raw. Overcome by sorrow, sufferers wailed and wept for solar days on end. In the worst cases, the so called "Weepers" were permanently blinded as their infected eyeballs festered and rotted from their skulls.

Having more than his fair share of dealings with the God of Rot when he was yet a prisoner in his own body in the Horus Heresy, the Primarch was quick to take action and used all means at his disposal to aid the people in the Parmenio systems.

The disease, soon named the Sorrow, or the Weeping Plague, spread with alarming rapidity. Its vector was believed to be an infestation of tiny, biting mites that were found amidst rations, squirming inside uniforms and ammunition packs, and even spilled from the pages of opened Imperial Primers. Nothing stopped the mites from multiplying, and no sanitary measure could long keep them out. The siege of Leotold's Keep collapsed thanks to the pernicious influence of the Sorrow, while the previously devastating Ravishol offensive ground to a halt as its human soldiery were reduced to blinded, wailing revenants. Furthermore, though they were not absolutely immune, only a very few cases had been reported amongst the ranks of the Adepta Sororitas. Some ascribed this to the presence of the Living Saint amongst the reconquest forces, but more believed that it was the enduring faith of the Battle-Sisters that protected them from sickness.

This was his gift, what made him different from the other Primarchs. While he was not the only one of humble origins, Horus was the only Primarch who maintained the state of mind of a commoner, and through this aspect of his character did the same compassionate nature of his father blossom.

There, at the moment when Horus found himself pursuing all options to aid his people, he heard the gentle whispers at the back of his mind. It came in the form of an idea, an inspiration from a higher power- a cure for the affliction. At first he regarded the thoughts with suspicion, knowing that the forces of Chaos were cunning in more ways than he cared to count, and was wary of the snares they might lay for him. The challenge was to know whether or not the trap was so, and that it was by the hand of the Enemy.

Though doubt weighed heavily on him, Horus did not conceal this inspiration from his companions, knowing full well how that ended up the last time he was in charge. Surprisingly, none objected, not even the most zealous of the Imperial leaders! Celestine herself declared the inspiration as godsent, a gift straight from the Golden Throne. Horus was skeptical, but deferred to the Saint's advice to use it, ordering the Medicus to begin synthesizing the vaccine.

From her cage in Nurgle's Realm, Isha smiled in satisfaction.

 **}!{**

 **Net's a bit choppy, so I don't know how long this takes to be seen onsite.**

 **A/N Crom'Torak**

 **Patience may not be one of your virtues, but I will ask you to have it just the same. I have a plan for your entry, and I'm afraid it will be a LONG way off, probably into the second book so that it ties in well with my plot. Also, should you insist on being in Horus' story I might have to make some changes in your suggestions ( don't worry, I'm not gonna tweak too much )**


	18. War in the Maelstrom Part One

**}!{**

Once the great fleet of the Terran Crusade was assembled in orbit of Macragge, the brother Primarchs made for Terra. The Warp churned. It roiled and raged. Temporal rip tides and squalls of insanity wrenched and battered at Guilliman's fleet. Whirlpools of arrogance; frenetic storms of anger and lust; becalming straits of misery circled by hungry daemonic entities; all had to be braved as the Terran Crusade pushed on.

On the pleas of their Navigators, the starships' captains dared only short jumps through the Warp. These quick and terrifying sprints ended - more often than not - in frantic crashdives into realspace as the dangers became too great. Despite many such horrors, none in the Terran Crusade so much as spoke of turning back. They braved the Warp Storms at the behest of two living Primarchs, on a mission to Holy Terra itself. Those who quailed in the face of such a momentous calling would surely be damned.

Guilliman travelled aboard his Chapter's ancient flagship, _Macragge's Honour_ , a craft that - unlike so much around him - provided the Primarch with a welcome haven of familiarity. Horus remained upon the _Golgo's Respite_ , perhaps choosing Captain Maranda's humble vessel as his flagship for the symbol it upholds as a whole. The ship had shared much of his journey towards redemption upon the Obscurus, if would be sheer arrogance should he abandon it now for something greater.

With the Immaterium in turmoil, those astropathic communiqués that made it through were jumbled, and nightmarish to interpret. What news the Crusade fleet managed to gather was uniformly dire, and left all who heard them cold with dread.

Whole star systems were being ravaged by unnatural phenomena, daemonic incursions and plagues of mutation. Psykers proliferated, bringing with them horrifc manifestations and outbursts of terror and madness. Loyal populations rose up as howling mobs of mad-eyed Chaos Cultists. Entire armies of xenos, saturated in the energies of the Warp, fought alongside daemons to bring death to the worlds of the Imperium. Star forts cried out for help, their corridors prowled by unnatural Warp entities that preyed upon their garrisons. Imperial fleets and convoys flung distress calls into the Empyrean as they were dragged light-years off course, or were beset by terrifying empyric predators.

Despite the lethal roiling of the Warp, the Terran Crusade forged onward. For the soldiery aboard the ships, the weeks crawled past in an agony of inactivity and agitation. A constant state of high alert was required fleetwide, for at any moment they might come under sudden attack. Yet for all their constant training, drilling, patrolling and waiting, still nothing occurred. Even amongst the superhuman warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, tempers frayed and inaction chafed. For the thousands of helots, naval armsmen and Chapter Serfs who crewed and garrisoned the vast warships, the constant state of readiness inevitably took its toll. The expectation of danger became the norm, to the point that laxness crept in and awareness slipped.

When at last the fleet was threatened, it came so suddenly that even the Adeptus Astartes and Cult Mechanicus were caught off guard. The Terran Crusade had reached the trailing edges of the permanent Warp rift known as the Maelstrom, and had found it swollen with fearsome new power. The fleet's Navigators moaned and screamed, describing something akin to an endless, impossibly immense tornado thundering in the Warp. Where safe channels should have existed, the billowing fringes of the Maelstrom had consumed all. Even the light of the Astronomican became faltering and nigh impossible to see.

Fearing for the safety of their brutalized craft, the fleet's captains ordered immediate translation to realspace. One by one, the Imperial warships tore through the meniscus of reality, streamers of glowing ectoplasm trailing from their hulls as they plunged back into the cold darkness of the void. Yet the thunderous shuddering on board each voidcraft continued, intensifying violently as impacts flared upon Void Shields and smashed through armored hulls.

The Hawk Lords frigate _Wings of Glory_ was ripped apart by a string of punishing explosions before its crew even knew who or what was attacking them. The Ultramarines Strike Cruiser, _Primarch's Wrath_ , sustained crippling damage after colliding with the White Consuls Cruiser _Hope and Fire_ as both voidships attempted blind evasive maneuvers.

Frantic orders filled the Vox net and echoed through cavernous ships' bridges as furious captains attempted to establish the nature of the threat. Had the fleet dropped out of the Warp and straight into an asteroid field? Had they, by some horrible chance, emerged into the midst of a hostile foe?

As Auspexes awoke and observation decks were unshrouded, the bleak truth became clear. The scattered ships of the Terran Crusade had indeed exited the Immaterium straight into the thundering guns of an enemy armada, but it looked as though this was no accident of chance.

Arrayed in perfect ambush formations were dozens of Traitor warships bearing baroque and ancient markings upon their hulls. The Loyalists realised that a vast fleet of the Thousand Sons surrounded them, deployed as though they had known precisely where and when the Imperial forces would emerge from the Warp.

At the heart of the enemy hung a strange craft of surpassing immensity. Only Guilliman and Horus truly understood its appearance, recognizing a vast silver facsimile of the Great Pyramid of Tizca. That cyclopean crystal structure had once stood as the crowning glory in the Thousand Sons Legion's capital city of the same name, upon their lost homeworld of Prospero.

Now it was resurrected in this monstrously magnified new form.

Vast as a planetoid, bristling with gun decks of baffling shape and function, and boasting an immense red crystal eye upon one flank, the insane structure was clearly both flagship and star fort for the enemy fleet. In this grandiose war engine, they saw all the hallmarks of the Daemon Primarch Magnus the Red.

Pandemonium seized the voidships of the Terran Crusade. Crushing tendrils of empyric energy wound about the craft like the tentacles of some leviathan beast. Bulkheads crumpled. Shields blew out. Raging fires and punishing gravity fluctuations tore through decks. Powerless to resist, the warships were plucked from reality and dragged into the Warp. Desperate Tech-adepts stumbled over their rituals as they strove madly to raise their ships' Gellar Fields. Some succeeded, but other craft were inundated with howling masses of daemons as they were dragged, unwarded, into the Warp. Madness and slaughter ran rife, and only the staunch determination of the Imperial armies aboard each ship prevented the Terran Crusade from being utterly annihilated.

As the loyalist guns thundered mutely against the vacuum of space outside, the Lupercal's calm but firm voice called for the attention of his followers within. He knew the ever-twisting plots of his brother Magnus, a maddening mix of simplicity and complexity at once. The one eyed Prince of Change favored fighting his enemies upon his own territory, leveling the playing field and shifting the odds in his favor.

By the time Magnus' spell ran its course, the starships of the Terran Crusade had been cast deep into the Maelstrom. Guilliman's fleet had, at least, been spat from the maw of the Warp once more, but the region they now found themselves in was a cursed one. But that was not the worst of the ill tidings, for once status reports had found their way to the bridge of the Ultramarines flagship, the Perfect Son soon realized that the whole armada had been cut in half. Horus was now in the Warp, forced to face Magnus on his own turf!

His first instinct was to plunge in after Horus, especially since the bulk of the Crusade's Retribution Class Battleships were on his side of the armada. Caution bade him to take pause, for his strike force was greatly reduced from Magnus' ambush, and so he did. For the moment, his brother will have to manage without him until he could find a solution.

* * *

Within the Maelstrom, reality and the Immaterium melted together in a strange morass. The stars were lost behind drifting veils of unnatural energy, and twisted worlds hung amidst the shimmering gloom. All attentions were drawn to the intense exchange between the voidfleets of Chaos and the battered armada of the Wolf of Terra, every effort thrown in to come through the battle victorious. There was desperation in the manner of Guilliman's planning, a stark contrast to his brother as Horus remained unfazed even in the face of tribulation, although this did little to hinder him from finding a solution.

The Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, Kairos Fateweaver, had joined the battle at the Daemon Prince's request. Upon a warped world of marble and flesh, the Daemon engaged the forces of the Lupercal- his followers now scattered upon the surface when ghostly tendrils reached out at Magnus' command and seized the _Golgo's Respite_. The Daemon had known this fate's fulfillment only when Horus dealt the killing blow upon Abaddon, then prophesied the return of the Perfect Son, aiding in the plot to ensnare the heroes of the Imperium when they began their journey towards Holy Terra.

His schemes involved psychically torturing Guilliman to further weaken the already insecure Primarch, enhancing his doubts and increasing his despair until he might drive him to insanity. It proved to be extremely difficult, as he soon found out, perhaps due to the strength Horus gave his brother just by being present in his personal crusade to save the Imperium. This, of course, frustrated the Daemon to no end. So he opted to shatter the pillar holding the Perfect Son together- his brother Horus.

This was a daunting task in itself as well, and the Daemon started to have second thoughts about facing the resurrected Favored Son. Horus Lupercal had the host of the most loyal of followers at his back, zealous and hard-driven to their cause that there was no room for him to manipulate them over to the side of Chaos. Even the guardsmen, whose faith was as fickle as the flak-jackets they donned, remained steadfast amidst the maddening whispers he sent forth from the winds of the Warp. When it proved too much, they preferred turning their own weapons upon themselves than falling victim to the promises of Chaos.

And Celestine...that insufferable Greater Daemon of the Emperor. Horus draws strength from her as much as the battlesisters at her command, tripling the difficulty of his task to undermine the Terran Crusade. Their minds cannot be twisted, so he will have to be a little bit more direct in his methods. The Red Corsairs at Fateweaver's disposal were instrumental in this aspect, unleashing a thousand years of hatred upon the loyalists that have made planetfall upon Magnus' domain.

Screeching furiously and calling forth a mighty host of cackling daemon-spawn, the Heralds of Tzeentch engaged the Celestinians head-on. This was a great deviation from their usual strategy, but was not without its own purpose. Horus knew this to be so, having his own share of experience dealing with the followers of the Great Schemer in the dark days of the Horus Heresy.

Their task was to free the ships ensnared by the living planetoid, and they would do so quickly once Kairos' advance was stemmed. Horus raised Soulrender and cried, "To me, sons and daughters of Man! For the Emperor!"

A building roar of fury emanated from the ranks of the zealous soldiers of the Imperium, seconded by the roar of lasgun, bolter and plasma-weaponry. The warp-empowered bolts of the sorcerers lashed out against the pressed formations of the Sisters of Battle, but fell away harmlessly as the golden rays of the Saint enwreathed her followers with its hallowed glow, protecting them from the malevolent touch of Chaos.

A spell was cast and the very ground opened up, exposing the gashed earth lined with row upon row of jagged teeth. Many guardsmen and astartes fell to the trap and were crushed under the mighty jaws of the planetoid, their souls then turned to feed the ever-hungry Empyrean. Seraphim, aerial assault-sisters upon wings of steel and fire, swooped down from the bleeding skies and drenched the gathered cultists with bolter-fire, weakening their sorcerers as their rituals were interrupted.

Horus did not care for sitting in the sidelines on this one, and he rolled into the thick of it, further inspiring his followers to fight even harder than before! The shard of the broken spear made up for its shortcomings, much to the Primarch's delight. It was almost as though Soulrender never broke, and its power remained as true as the day it was bestowed upon him by the Emperor. Summoning all the willpower within him, Horus commanded Soulrender to strike at the tendrils grasping around his flagship, and it obeys. Beams of pure psionic energy, amplified by the eldritch forces of the Warp, struck the foul tentacles and forced them to release their victims.

Onboard the _Golgo's Respite_ , Capt. Maranda Goodwill grunts as the ship lurched forward, freed at last from the grip of the Red Son. Quickly, she gives the command for the ship to open fire, targeting the conclaves dotting the face of the planetoid to slay the sorcerers channeling their power up to the Daemon Prince, turning the tide in their favor.

Below, Kairos Fateweaver sighed in frustration. His precognitive powers were useless in this battle, for some reason, a weakness sure to be exploited by the Favored Son. The future remained muddled and confusing to his foresight, there was nothing for him to make use of, rendering him quite useless in the fight against the loyalists.

This did not deter him from carrying out the task set to him by his master, however, and so he pressed on in spite of the hindrances present.

With a single thought, the Greater Daemon tore a rift in the fabric of reality and joined the Red Corsairs assaulting the _Macragge's Honour_ beyond the gaping maw of the Warp, leaving his underlings to handle the Lupercal and the Celestinians below.

* * *

The Chaos onslaught was swift and savage. It had to be, for though the Ultramarines were outnumbered, they held an incredibly defensible position against the enemy boarding parties. Guilliman's gene-sons crouched behind consoles artfully designed to double as barricades in the event of a breach. More of their number occupied elevated positions on gantries and balconies overlooking the bulkhead, taking up positions amidst the looming grandeur of the bridge.

The first servants of Chaos to bound and cartwheel onto the bridge had absolutely no cover whatsoever. Pink Horrors of Tzeentch were engulfed in a storm of disciplined, expertly aimed fire that ripped them to pieces. Into the meat grinder poured more and more daemons, while behind them squads of Red Corsairs lunged through the blasted bulkhead and dashed for any cover they could find.

Bolters roared, their massed echo and strobing muzzle flare rolling around the bridge like a raging thunderstorm. Daemons exploded in puffs of ectoplasm, smaller simulacra bursting from their corpses to be mowed down in turn. Traitor Space Marines clad in the defaced liveries of a dozen Chapters fell dead upon the killing ground, their armoured corpses continuing to twitch and jerk as more rounds struck them. Bolt shells, plasma blasts, las beams and missiles fell like hailstones, ripping the deck plates to blackened ruin and annihilating dozens of invaders.

Inevitably, though, the boarders began to gain ground. A jetting blast of purple fire leapt out to turn a gantry to slime, sending a squad of Red Corsairs Terminators tumbling a hundred Terran feet into the Vox pits below. A cluster of Krak Grenades rained down upon a console-barricade, their detonations killing one Veteran and forcing two more to beat a hasty retreat. In the moments before he fell, a Red Corsair unloaded his Plasma Gun into another barricade, killing several Ultramarines before being killed by his own overheated weapon exploding in his hands. So it went on, the enemy eroding Guilliman's defences through reckless assaults.

Then came Kairos. The first warning the Loyalists had of the Greater Daemon's onset was a thickening of the air as the Empyrean stirred. Librarian Pollonius cried out in sudden agony, hands clamped to his skull and eyes bulging as the energies of his own mind were turned against him. Fast as lightning, Guilliman hurled himself aside, barging Captain Sicarius clear in the instant before Pollonius' body detonated in a wave of blue fire. Several Ultramarines were not so lucky, their armour dissolving and flesh turning to ash as the flames washed over them.

As the commanders of the Ultramarines reeled, the next rain of firepower to fall upon the kill box was transmogrified. Instead of mass-reactive shells and whistling grenades, all that struck the attacking hordes was shimmering starlight and wisps of silver steam.

A fresh wave of leaping Flamers and cackling Horrors surged through the bulkhead and leapt to the attack. More Red Corsairs came with them, lumbering Chaos Terminators and fang-helmed warriors with Bolters blazing. At their back, his ragged wings spread wide and his staff tapping before him, came Kairos Fateweaver himself.

Seeing the Lord of Change, Guilliman roared a battle cry and charged. Cato Sicarius and his warriors followed close on their Primarch's heels, while Greyfax and Celestine hurled themselves into the foe to either side.

Guilliman stormed through daemons and Traitors alike, his flaming sword swiping in unstoppable arcs. Volleys of shells thundered from the Hand of Dominion, while the crushing fist obliterated an enemy with every blow. Daemons exploded in sprays of unnatural ichor before Guilliman's fury, while those Traitors foolish enough to stand in his path were smashed aside like rag dolls.

Following the trail of carnage wrought by their Primarch, Sicarius and his Battle-Brothers hacked and blasted those enemies who tried to encircle Guilliman. Sicarius himself was a blur, his Talassarian Tempest Blade drawing golden arcs through the air as it lopped horned helms from armoured shoulders, and split daemons in two. At the same time, blinding light shone from Saint Celestine as she carved her way through the Warpspawn, and Inquisitor Greyfax sent one Traitor after another crashing to their knees as she crushed their minds with her telepathic powers.

It did not take Kairos' matchless future-sight to foresee that his enemy would attempt to reach and slay him. The Lord of Change was no match for Guilliman in battle, but armed with his faultless precognition, he had long prepared for this moment. Now, as the Lord of Ultramar smashed his way closer, Kairos set his devious scheme in motion by unleashing a pulse of blue flame from his staff.

Nine Heralds of Tzeentch had worked their way through the press of battle, concealed behind shimmering spells of illusion. At Kairos' signal, the leering daemons cast aside their sorcerous shrouds and began a babbling incantation. Bolt shells whipped in towards the Heralds the moment they appeared, but their daemon minions leapt willingly into the path of the shots. Shielded by the shimmering flesh of their underlings, the Heralds continued their chant, nine voices rolling and twining with each other over the cacophony of battle. Raising the Staff of Tomorrow high above his heads, Kairos joined his croaking voices to the burgeoning spell.

Since Guilliman had first entered the Maelstrom and begun to hear Kairos whispering in his mind, the Greater Daemon had been planting traps in the Primarch's subconscious. It had not been easy, for Guilliman's mind was a pristine fortress of order and rationality, and his mental defences were formidable. Yet slowly, carefully, the deed had been done. Kairos had teased forth Guilliman's guilt, his anger and disappointment at what remained of the Imperium, his fears for its future. The daemon had intended to continue his work until the Primarch was quite mad before attempting this ritual, but the intervention of the interfering Eldar had forced Kairos' hand. His preparations would have to be enough, or else Guilliman would surely banish him back to the Warp and escape.

Swaying and gibbering, spinning and leaping, the daemons worked their spell and dragged forth the incantations laced within Guilliman's mind. The Primarch stumbled, bellowing in pain as streamers of incandescent energy poured from his eyes and open mouth. Squirming tendrils of green, psychic guilt twined around serpentine streamers of disgust and surging red tendrils of anger. Engulfed by the whirling storm of psychic energies, Guilliman tried again to forge a path forward, but with a howl of pain he went down on one knee. Greyfax, bogged down in the morass of combat, could only watch helplessly, while Celestine's attempt to fly to the Primarch's aid was thwarted as several daemons latched onto her wings.

Sicarius and his Battle-Brothers, crying out in impotent fury, tried to cut their way through the foe, hoping to stop the incantation in any way they could. The 2nd Company Captain ordered all fire concentrated upon the daemons tormenting the Primarch. It did no good. Those shots aimed at Kairos puffed away as clouds of glittering dust, while the Heralds remained shielded behind squirming bulwarks of daemonic flesh.

Though the outnumbered Ultramarines fought furiously, they could not reach the daemonic sorcerers to stop their ritual. Roaring his anger, Guilliman surged to his feet once more, hammering off a volley of shells that struck Kairos Fateweaver and ripped bloody chunks from his gaunt torso.

Though the daemon was wounded sorely by the explosive impacts, his chant did not stop. Instead, it redoubled in intensity, the daemon's voices ringing out cruel and cold. Whirling and lashing, the coloured streamers of ectoplasmic energy surged from the Primarch's mind. All of Guilliman's negative emotions, all of the threads of madness and wrath and fear that Kairos had seeded into his mind, blossomed forth and wrapped themselves like vines around the Primarch. They thickened and twisted, pulsing with power as they hardened into heavy crystal chains.

Arms and legs bound tight, Guilliman crashed to his knees once more. This time, held firmly by Kairos' spell, he was unable to rise. The Oracle, projecting his voices to every warrior upon the bridge, commanded the Ultramarines, the Living Saint and the Inquisitor to lay down their arms at once. If they did not, the Primarch would be crushed and throttled to death before their eyes. One by one, the guns fell silent as the horrified Ultramarines complied. The battle was over, and Kairos Fateweaver stood gloating and victorious.

 **}!{**

 **Should've updated this a long time ago. Writer's block is a bitch, but I've beaten it back for now :)**


	19. War in the Maelstrom Part Two

**}!{**

He watches the child curiously as she waddles on her short, stubby legs in attempt to reach her father. Her bright, green eyes look up at him in adoration, and she thrusts out her arms while uttering a garbled coo. The sight brings a peculiar warmth in the man's heart, and he receives his beloved daughter well, planting a little kiss on her plump cheek.

Her mother leans against the doorpost, watching this exchange with a mirthful but reserved countenance. Farseer Taldeer swept a stray lock of hair from her face and approached her husband once the child had had enough of her little walks and was turned over to her crib to rest. She took his arm in hers and laid her head on his shoulder, basking in the pleasant atmosphere their love has created. It would not last long, however, for she had news of ill nature to share.

"Liivi."

Her husband's attention was devoted fully to her, she could tell from the way those piercing gray eyes remained affixed on hers. He hardly spoke a word since that morning, even now he remains silent, but this was enough for her.

His silence helps her focus, "The visions have returned to me. I have seen...I have seen the Primarch Horus return to the realms of Man. He brings with him the anger of a billion souls clamoring for justice."

Liivi blinks, words remaining unspoken.

"He comes not as the Archtraitor that he's condemned to be, but as the bearer of lost hope. And with his return, the Ruinous Powers stir." Taldeer's hand moves to her breast to calm her frantically beating heart. "I can feel She-Who-Thirsts tugging at my soul. She withdraws from her millennia-long reprieve. My love, I am afraid."

At this Liivi pulls his wife closer and holds her tenderly in his arms, still not uttering a single word, and yet manages to calm the Farseer in spite of the lack of exchange. The former Vindicare, though as stoic as was his nature, was deeply concerned. Never before has the aeldari oracle acted in this manner around him, and it could only mean that the fear was not misplaced. The peace never lasts, he knew this to be true, but not on this scale. "Do we have to leave?" He spoke for the first time that day.

Taldeer confessed, "I don't want to."

He understood what those words meant. For the first time in centuries, Taldeer and Liivi enjoyed that life they had together, far from the horrors of the Unending War. They sought to create a home for the child they birthed, where little Senua could grow in safety- far from the clutches of the Dark Prince Slaanesh. To leave the safety of their home in the Webway to be involved in the War they left behind, it would mean endangering their beloved daughter. "We can sit this one out, or we can take up arms and rejoin the struggle." Liivi whispered whilst stroking his wife's shiny black mane, "Whatever you decide, know that I will stand by you till the end."

"I know."

* * *

Horus heard the psychic scream of the Fateweaver, at this he bellows out a roar of frustration. Celestine was onboard the _Macragge's Honour_ , and if his brother was trapped in there as the Greater Daemon's hostage, her fate would undoubtedly be similar maybe even worse. "Brothers and sisters of Man! To me!" He rallies his forces together, "They hold my brother Guilliman! Chaos has our allies in their grasp! Get onboard, we attack!"

They cheer at the imparted courage of his words and rush to join the Primarch in the next battle, scrambling into transporters to get themselves underway.

It wasn't a decision born out of recklessness, the opportunity yet presents itself, and Horus would seize it. Kairos had grown overconfident, and in his haste to bring an end to the conflict he had neglected to take into account the danger the Favored Son presented. Quickly, the Warmaster returned to the _Golgo's Respite_ , intent on putting a stop to the Fateweaver's scheme to fracture the Imperial forces. Having freed his ships from the living planetoid's ethereal tendrils, Horus commanded all guns to fire upon the Chaos voidships encroached about the subdued Ultramarine cruisers. Lasfire hailed violently upon voidshields, they shimmer visibly for a brief moment before shattering completely. In their attempts to redirect their full attentions towards the Favored Son's onslaught, the Red Corsairs suffered heavy casualties, their losses mounting as Horus made a furious headway for the _Macragge's Honour_ \- which was now in Kairos' complete control.

The Greater Daemon of Tzeentch turned an eye towards the vessel pummeling aside voidships thrice its size in its attempt to get closer. His annoyance turns to frustration. He almost forgot the unyielding nature of the Lupercal- he would not stop at anything to save his brother. "It is time for us to leave." He decides, summoning all the powers at his disposal to tear another rift in reality. The portal opens before the captured Ultramarine flagship, and at the Fateweaver's command, the engines pour in for all they were worth to make a speedy withdrawal from the starship graveyard.

Aboard the _Golgo's Respite,_ Horus takes note of the aftertrail of the battleship's thrusters and understands immediately what Kairos was up to. "Engines full!"

"We are to enter the breach, milord?" Maranda questioned. "But we do not know what lies beyond!"

"I do." Horus replied, "Trust in me, captain." The Primarch then turned to send a vox-message to all those who shared the same channel. But before he could even begin to speak, another ship joined the fray. Warheads scream across space, closing the distance with blinding speed and pinpoint accuracy as they struck the ancient flagship's vital propulsion systems, impairing its mobility greatly and allowing the loyalist ships to gain ground. Horus' eyes were wide with astonishment and recognition. Only one ship, among all others in the days of the Great Crusade, was ever gifted with such speed for one of its kind.

A near-perfect imitation of the Gloriana-class Battleship that was the pride of the 15th Legion, the _Shadow of the Emperor_ , the _Duskbringer_ weaved in and out of the exchange with the finesse of an eel amongst boulders as it spearheaded the assault of a massive Ravenguard flotilla come to bolster the ranks of the exhausted Crusade.

The vox-channel crackles as the connection between flagships was established, and a familiar voice addresses the Lupercal. _"Apologies for the delay, brother. I meant to come sooner. Alas, these Warp-storms have not made it easier on us."_

"Corvus Corax." Horus grinned. Another ally had come to aid in his quest, "Your timing could not have been better."

 _"I'd prattle on with the pleasantries, but our dear brother Roboute seems to be in a bind. I will begin the assault on the bridge as soon as that rift closes. You're welcome to join us. A Greater Daemon isn't something to take lightly. I will need all the help I can get."_

"I will be there, you can count on it." Horus agreed, turning to Maranda Goodwill as the connection was terminated. "Captain, I leave the ship in your command once again. Keep the enemy off our backs while I make for the Greater Daemon who holds my brother prisoner."

"Yes, milord." She said with a nod.

Horus summons the host of mighty Black Templars, Blood Angels and loyal Battlesisters- all eager to wrest their beloved Saint free from the Fateweaver's clutches. They board the drop-pods at the _Golgo's Respite's_ portside chambers, standing-by for the deployment sequence to be initiated. Horus would've opted to teleport aboard the _Macragge's Honour_ , but alas, Kairos' psychic attunement with the Empyrean was so strong that it threw off his concentration- preventing him from doing as planned.

* * *

"And so the Raven-Lord has finally dragged himself out of his millennia long walk of penance." Kairos mused, having foreseen this possibility before. "Commendable, but quite brash." He turned to the Primarch chained at his feet. "The same could be said of your decisions as of late, Perfect Son."

Guilliman utters a low groan in reply.

Beyond the rift lay the Blackstone Fortress held by the Tyrant of Badab- Horun Blackheart, the monstrous chapter-master of the Red Corsairs. The wrecked and battered _Macragge's Honour_ was slow in its descent into the gaping maw of the portal, but its plunge into the abyss was inevitable. Whatever attempt made to liberate the vessel would force the loyalists boarding it to be dragged down as well, so Kairos cared little for the sudden shift of power in the struggle.

Further down the halls, as the prisoners were being herded into separate holding cells, the Red Corsair traitor marines had the fleeting notion that something was amiss. The clamor that had persisted from the end of the last battle had died down, giving way for an eerie silence that could only spell trouble on their part. And yet, against all instinct, overconfidence has blinded the traitors to the danger lurking in the shadows.

Then, the blades struck out without warning.

Seemingly materializing out of thin air, the adeptus astartes of the 19th Legion burst free from the darkness and fell upon the Red Corsairs from all sides! Assault marines drove sword and claw through blood-encrusted ceramite, spilling traitor's life upon the hallowed floor. Lead personally by the Raven Lord himself, the rescue team executed the next phase of their operation with brutal efficiency. So swift was their judgement that not a single bolter or shout was sounded in the span of six seconds! The bodies fell where they stood, and the liberated loyalists looked upon their saviors with aghast expressions.

They beheld Corvus Corax with awe, another Primarch returned from the depths to aid the Imperium in its darkest hour.

"Again, the Emperor has heard my prayer!" Celestine exclaimed, stretching forth her hands so that her arcanic bonds may be severed. The Ravenguard have come at the best of times, for the prisoners were being herded to be sacrificed later to fuel the machinations of the Ruinous Powers.

"Is my brother among you?" Corvus asked, kohl-black eyes searching the line of prisoners stretched across the long corridor leading into the bowels of the ancient battleship. He needn't hear the answer, he knew where he must go. "Arm yourselves." He tells the liberated ones, commanding his sons to surrender their bolters to the champions among them, knowing that they would need it more than they will in the coming battle. He left a homing device with one of the sergeants of the Ultramarine Chapter before heading down the way, "Take this, my brother Horus Lupercal will follow its signal. Regroup with his company and clear out any opposition lurking within the ship's depths. I will see to your Primarch's retrieval."

"No milord!" The sergeant protested, "He is our gene-sire! We are duty-bound to protect our Lord! Please, do not deny us this!"

"You're only going to get in my way." Corvus answered, but then saw the opportunity presented with the sergeant's conviction. The Ravenguard highly preferred a stealthy approach, whereas the Ultramarines had a tendency to announce their arrival at a battle with bombastic overtures. In this instance, they would make for an excellent distraction. "But since you're all so eager..."

A plan was made, and soon put into action.

The bridge was stormed by the Ultramarines, their pace grown swift and their hearts filled with zeal as they fought to free their captured Primarch. The roar of their bolters could be mirrored by the ear-graining howls amplified by their vox-grills as they rained shells upon the Tzeentchian daemonic hordes, spilling gore and ectoplasm across the stained walls and bloodied floor, adding to the mess of the earlier conflict. The Greater Daemon screeched, calling forth more of his kin from the depths of the Warp to slay the interlopers who would dare defy his will. More rifts opened upon the bridge, belching out more and more cackling horrors until the air grew thick with the disturbances wrought by the influx of psychic energies.

And then, the Ravenguard struck.

Like before, they removed themselves from the shadows, descending like birds-of-prey with frightening agility and dispatching the sorcerers lending Kairos their power, severely weakening the Daemon's influence upon reality. Corvus took it upon himself to face the Fateweaver personally, and he reveals himself to the forces of the Great Deceiver for the first time in a millennia.

Guilliman, though weak and worn from the effects of the psychic torment he endured from Kairos, sees his brother's face and his heart lifts. "Corvus..."

The Raven Lord's claws rend the rubricae standing in his way, and he makes for the pedestal upon which the Fateweaver stood. The whip unravels, and it lashes out across the Daemon's body, tearing apart the arcane barrier shielding him from the bolter shells all throughout the battle and exposing him to Corvus' assault. In response, the Oracle stretched out his hand and blasted away at the Raven Lord with forked lightning bolts stemming from the heart of the Maelstrom swirling outside.

Corvus had only to will it, and his wings folded forward to absorb the eldritch energies, converting it into powering his own shields. Having spent time in the Warp had taught the Raven Lord a few tricks in dealing with sorcerers, and with Kairos it was only differed by a small margin. He just needed to strike quickly while the Daemon was vulnerable and stay as far away from the Staff of Tomorrow, knowing full well the effects of that malevolent weapon if it manages to even graze him.

Corvus had no intention of going mad that day.

Time slows to a crawl as Kairos twists the very fabric of space in his favor, he sees every move Corvus makes and would make, and acts accordingly. He detested having to deal with him personally, but with the Raven Lord's persistence it would seem he had no choice in the matter. The Daemon withdrew, casting lancing bolt after bolt to keep Corvus at bay. He only needed a few more minutes before the _Macragge's Honour_ was safely through the rift in the Maelstrom, and it would be another victory for him.

But there was another flaw in the Fateweaver's plans that persisted, and had long gone unnoticed. Blind to the present, Kairos had forgotten the rogue element that was Horus Lupercal. While all others have had their attentions occupied- Ultramarine and Ravenguard engaging daemon and Red Corsair- the Wolf of Terra had already joined the battle for the flagship's bridge and had seized the opportunity to rid the chessboard of a vital piece. At his heels came a host of valiant Black Templars, frenzied guardsmen and vindictive sisters-of-battle.

His footfalls thunder across the stained floor, he leaps high into the smoke-filled air, Soulrender raised and poised to deliver the killing blow. Seeing an opening, Horus hurled his spear across the bridge, bypassing the Greater Daemon's barriers just as they returned to defend the Fateweaver from the Raven Lord's assaults and burying itself deep into Kairos' chest!

The eyes upon those twin heads blink in disbelief at the excruciating pain lancing through that wound where the very waters of the Well of Eternity spilled from. Kairos dropped his staff and clutches at the divine weapon robbing him of life, gasping as the breath left his body. He could feel Tzeentch tugging at his soul in an attempt to bring him back to be used another day, but then found his connection to the Empyrean severed completely by that accursed piece of metal! "Wha...what is this?"

"A gift from the Emperor." Horus growled, ascending the ramp quickly and grasping the shaft of his weapon.

"Wait..." Kairos pleaded desperately, "I have so much to offer...we can make a deal..." The sheer insolence of the Daemon's plea disgusts Horus to no end, and the Primarch drives the spear even further, wishing a quick end to the Oracle before he convinces him to do otherwise. Whatever secrets he wished to impart can burn with him. The Fateweaver, his soul and psychic essence consumed by the power of the godspear, soon bursts into a ball of blue flames as the body collapses in on itself, leaving nothing but ashes and charred remains of embroided garments.

At the Oracle's death, the chains upon the Favored Son dissolved into nothing, freeing Guilliman from the manifested bonds of his doubts and traces of guilt. His strength returned, and he rises from the ruined floor. His eyes fill with tears of happiness, and he embraces his brothers. The sight of all three Primarchs together in one place elicits a thunderous cheer from all the loyalists present, and they hack away eagerly at the traitors unfortunate enough to survive the aftermath.

"There is so much I want to tell you, my brother." Horus said to Corvus, "So many wrongs I must right."

"And I as well." Guilliman joined in.

Corvus looked out at the shattered observatorium, "I'd rather not get into it at the moment." He referred to the Blackstone Fortress sitting beyond the great tear. The _Macragge's Honour_ had slipped into the rift, alone and right in the middle of enemy territory. "We still have them to worry about."

"Agreed." Horus acknowledged, "But we must have these words soon, you must know that."

"Perhaps." Corvus replied, tucking his whip back into his belt.

 **}!{**

 **Okay, so technically that whole Liivi x Taldeer story isn't canon- but who cares?! Love can bloom!**


	20. Sic Semper Tyrannis

**}!{**

Upon the eyes of the Primarch, the Blackstone Fortress was clearly reflected on. Another battle awaits the Terran Crusade, and yet the scarred forces remained undaunted. They had recovered their strength, bolstered by the might of the Ravenguard flotilla and Corvus Corax's noble sons. They would finish their task here, and will continue their voyage to Holy Terra as planned. But even here, the palpable ebb of animosity could be felt amongst the three brothers, and it did not come as a surprise to the Lupercal. Although grateful for the timely rescue, he knew he had yet to answer for the many grievances he had wrought upon the Raven Lord. Again, the fault lay with the possession of his will, but it was still his hand as seen by all others. Corvus may likely never forgive him for that, but he can only hope...

"Horun Blackheart awaits." Corvus speaks, hand outstretched as if to crush the Blackstone Fortress between his fingers. "He expects the Greater Daemon Kairos to deliver Roboute in chains."

"And you shall bring me to his doorstep, with bolter and sword ready to strike down every traitor in that vile construct!" Guilliman growled, eager to get back into the fight after being incapacitated in the last bout.

"We shall in due time." Horus replied, "Brother Corax, signal and rally your ships together while the rift remains open." He takes note of the cold stare of the Raven Lord, obviously offended that he would assume command after all the transgressions he had suffered as a result of Horus' actions. At this he proceeds a little bit more cautiously, "I do not presume to hold command of your Legion, brother. I only-

"Cease in your apologies, I know what must be done." Corvus turned heel and walked off the deck without a parting word to his brothers, avoiding the still-warm corpses of the slain traitor astartes in his path towards the airlock.

"I must return to the _Golgo's Respite_." Horus told Roboute, "Preparations must be made before any assault on the Fortress can be done."

"Ah yes." The Perfect Son glanced around at the ruined state of his own fleet, "And I shall endeavor to rally what little I have left in this Crusade. Damnation, what a mess."

"My lords!" A shout rang out from the observatorium, "Look there! Another traitor armada approaches!"

"There shall be no respite for us, it would seem." Guilliman sighed, watching as the said enemy tears its way past the roiling waves of the Maelstrom and into the Blackstone's airspace. Dozens upon dozens of warships thundered toward the Blackstone Fortress, their hulls encrusted with gore and skulls. The rune of Khorne was branded upon these spiked battleships, and daemonic fires danced in their wake. Before the fleet blazed a monstrous, blood-red comet wreathed in furious black flame. A fanged maw yawned wide upon that hurtling fireball, and eyes swimming with insane fury stared from its depths. So came Skarbrand the Exiled One to the Blackstone Fortress, blazing through the void to crash with explosive force into the station's outer hull. Khornate warships sped in his wake, fanning out to hammer the battle station with firepower even as teeming swarms of landing craft spilled from their flanks.

The Red Corsairs, first surprised and then outraged at this sudden attack, rallied swiftly and fought back. Even as their fortifications were opened to the void and blasted to blazing scrap, the Corsairs' gun batteries cycled up and filled the void with fire. Havoc squads sent volleys of shots lancing out to blast landing craft from the air, while Obliterators directed withering fire into the Khornate hordes already spilling across the fortress' outer hull. A furious battle raged in the silence of space, thumping explosions plucking Khorne Berzerkers from the fortress' night-black skin and sending them tumbling away into the void.

Within the Blackstone, flashes of pale green luminescence danced along darkened corridors, the ancient structure warning its denizens of danger. Red Corsairs deployed in disciplined firing lines, then filled entire passageways with crashing Bolter fire as masses of Khornate warriors charged towards them. Chainaxes carved through armour and flesh, while bolt-riddled corpses crashed to the ground aflame.

"I am sorely tempted to let them have at each other while we make a speedy headway for Terra." Guilliman shared his thoughts to Horus, "The true battle is not here, it is in the very heart of the Imperium."

"If we leave now, we leave a grave threat in the galaxy to continue its bloodsoaked campaign against the Imperium of Man." Horus replied, "I will not back out and allow Huron Blackheart to remain at large, and with a Blackstone Fortress at his disposal. Think of the countless innocents we will save if we strike him down now."

"And it is the reason why our father created us in the first place." Guilliman agreed once he had reflected on his brother's words. "Very well, brother. If you are willing to face another Greater Daemon so soon, I will gladly back you."

* * *

Fights broke out as Red Corsairs let fly from higher walkways and Cannons of Khorne spat screaming skulls. Platforms as broad as parade grounds played host to crashing battles as packs of Daemon Engines clashed with squadrons of Ultramarine main battle tanks. The Loyalists fired as they moved, blasting paths through the massing foe. At the same time, the forces of Khorne and Tzeentch fell upon one another, Bloodletters hacking their way down ichor-slick stairways while Horrors scoured platforms clear with shimmering flame.

Kairos was taken out of the equation, only to be replaced by the Exiled One, an event that changed little to nothing in the intensity of the struggle.

Long, bloody solar minutes of battle followed, gunfire flashing back and forth in the gloom. Though both sides raced as fast as they could to beat the other to the prize, Guilliman and his army reached the heart of the Blackstone Fortress at the same time as their foes. The chamber itself was vast, easily a hundred Terran miles across. Both its ceiling and its floor were lost in shadow. Entrancing patterns of shimmering lights crawled across the walls, and flickered up and down the titanic black column that rose at the chamber's heart. Out from that column, like the distorted branches of some dark arboreal deity, radiated hundreds of bridges, stairways, platforms and gantries, all shimmering with the same, vaguely bioluminescent lights that danced across the walls.

Countless dark doorways opened onto the Blackstone Fortress' heart, huge portals that seemed wrought for giants. From some spilled daemons of Tzeentch, fires flaring amidst the darkness. Others vomited the daemons of Khorne, loping in snarling packs across soaring bridges wide enough for Titans to cross.

Many of the massing daemons were still distant, small figures rendered insectile by the scale of the chamber, but great hosts of them would still intercept Guilliman's forces before they could reach the heart of the chamber.

Huron Blackheart was not amused by the assault on his fortress. Likened unto a bear whose hibernation had been disturbed, the Master of the Red Corsairs bellowed forth his challenge and waded into the thick of the battle. Nothing had gone according to plan as of late, and it infuriated Blackheart to know that Kyros was no longer around to aid him. Three Primarchs were at his very doorstep, all clamoring for his death, and worse still was the arrival of Khorne's lapdog! Hacking his way through a gaping portal in the chamber's wall, the Bloodthirster blazed like a furious pyre. His bellows echoed through the cavernous space, primal roars of bloodlust that infected the minds of all who heard them. Under Skarbrand's influence, Guilliman's Battle-Brothers became more reckless and aggressive by the moment. Contaminated by the daemon's psychic fury, Marius Amalrich and the last of the Black Templars turned aside from their route and hurled themselves into an onrushing mass of Khornate daemons. Blood sprayed as a savage melee broke out. For a moment the Primarch considered diverting his own forces to help Amalrich's, but with Skarbrand storming closer and daemons swarming on every front, there was no time. With a heavy heart, Guilliman barked orders through the Vox, steadying the Ultramarines and their Primogenitor allies with the sheer force of his will.

As was his nature, the Raven Lord appeared when he was least expected to, and he descended from the heights of the dark citadel with a host of chainsword-wielding Ravernguard assault-marines at his wake to stem the tide of Chaos as they threatened to wash away the loyalists pressing for entry. Claws extended like the talons of his namesake, Corvus Corax swept through the mob of khornate berserkers with the grace of an eagle snatching a trout out of water. Torsos, limbs and heads fell apart as the razor-sharp blades ignored rustic armor and enchanted runes. Blood slickened the decks as the enemy death toll rose, spurred on further as Skarbrand indiscriminately cut down all that was in his path- be it ally or otherwise.

His maddened gaze searched for the Raven Lord, who suddenly disappeared into thin air as quickly as he had come. The Bloodthirster's cries of frustration thundered through the wide halls of the walkway, driving the Red Corsairs back in fear. And then suddenly, Corvus struck out from the darkness. His claws rake across the Greater Daemon's unprotected back, drawing red ichor from a hideous scar reopened by the Primarch's sharp talons.

 _The First Axiom of Victory is to be other than where the enemy desires you to be._

The roaring daemonaxes in the Bloodthirster's hands dug deep into the bloodstained floor where he thought the Primarch would be, then found to his anger that the Raven Lord disappeared once again! The flames within the Daemon's heart burned a thousand times hotter, and he belches forth the hellfire like a furnace threatening to blow. Skarbrand swiveled twice over both ways, his bestial howls giving voice to his anger for the deception. _**"Come out and fight me you coward!"**_

 _The First Axiom of Stealth is to be other than where the enemy believes you to be._

The wings of the Raven Lord's pinions swept the towering slaughterer from beneath the knees, tearing apart crucial tendons and driving the Greater Daemon low. Skarbrand bellowed out in pain, struggling to regain his composure as the forces of Roboute Guilliman interrupted the duel with a storm of bolter-fire. The structure flexed and shuddered beneath the wrathful Daemon's weight, Skarbrand had come for Guilliman's skull that he might offer it to Khorne, but now there were three Primarchs present. Why settle for one skull, when you can take three? Although strategy was far from the Bloodthirster's turbulent thoughts, Skarbrand had a singular goal in mind that would not be shaken. The Raven Lord was swift, but he cannot hope that would save him from his wrath. No quarry of his had any hope of escape.

 _The First Axiom of Freedom is that justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyranny._

Unlike Guilliman, whose mind was filled with unreasoning fury from the Daemon's influence, Corvus remained true to his plan and executed it with brutal efficiency. He unleashed a thousand cuts that severely impaired Skarbrand's actions, further driving the Bloodthirster to smite with reckless abandon, causing him to lash out even at the khornate daemons rushing to help in the carnage.

Unable to stop himself, the Primarch of the Ultramarines bellowed a war cry and leapt to meet Skarbrand's charge. The Emperor's Sword met Slaughter with a dolorous clang, while Carnage whistled over the Primarch's head by a hair's breadth. Guilliman drove his shoulder guard into his opponent's midriff, then span on his heel and backfisted Skarbrand with the Hand of Dominion. The blow would have punched straight through a tank hull, yet the Bloodthirster merely rocked back on his heels before launching himself forward again. Hellforged axes hacked and lashed in huge, haymaker arcs, Guilliman barely blocking or evading each blow.

At this, Corvus let out a sigh of exasperation. The resolve and discipline in his brother was gone, reducing the Primarch to as low as a mere khornate berserker. In this act, he served the God of War, and Khorne smiled at the Perfect Son's shedding of blood. Skarbrand felt his master's approval of his opponent and this unhinged the last tether to his mind, turning him into the crazed killing machine that he was rebirthed for.

Corvus wielded the shadows like the master of deception that he was, aiding his brother in the battle by having at Skarbrand where his back was turned. The majority of the Daemon's attention was drawn to Guilliman, who was relentlessly hacking away with the flame-enwreathed blade in his hand.

Far from the chaos of the battle for the fortress corridors, the forces of Horus Lupercal had slipped past the Blackstone's defenses and arrived in due time to face Huron in the heart of the dark citadel. With most of his forces occupied with the khornate incursions and the assault of both Ravenguard legions and Ultramarine sub-chapters, the Tyrant of Badab was left with a meager sum of champions and the Chaos gods' attention. Horus had brought with him a small squad of terminators, meeting the Blood Reaver on equal ground.

"So, the Lupercal comes for my head." Huron leaned back on his throne casually, "This day was bound to come. Only a fool would think his reign would last forever. It would've been by the hand of an aspiring champion of one of the Chaos gods, an ambitious Imperial inquisitor, or perhaps a rival pirate lord. But no..." The Tyrant rose and picked up his axe, a weapon that had severed a thousand heads and inspired fear into the hearts of many upon the fringes of the Maelstrom. "The Primarch of the Luna Wolves." Huron forced out a chuckle, "Tell me, Lord Horus of Cthonia...how goes your new life as the Imperium's lapdog?"

"Cease this pointless prattle, Blackheart." Horus replied coldly, "Let us finish this." The terminators hefted their shields and readied their warhammers, poised to strike at their commander's word.

"For Khorne!" The dogs of war were unleashed, and the melee ensues. Unlike Horus, who waded into the thickest of the fight, Huron merely stood back and watched. The sight of a returned Primarch soiling his hands in battle amused him. Blackheart knew these were his last moments, but his end would not come solely with a fight. He would enjoy these final hours as best as he could.

The terminators met the champions of the Red Corsairs with equal fury, but stood out from the battle with contradicting maneuvers. Blessed with the rage of the Blood God, the Red Corsairs hurled themselves into the fray with the same reckless abandon displayed by the khornate berserkers below. The terminators, although hailing from separate chapters, met these savage strikes with patience. They bore the brunt of the assault with ceramite shields and only struck back when an opening was presented to them, retaliating with heavy blows from their power-mauls that could smash the hull of a Leman Russ battle-tank.

Over the din of the struggle, the laughter of the Blood Reaver could be heard, taunting the Lord of Cthonia to come at him prematurely. Horus did not accept the challenge just yet, he wanted to prove a point first. He would not set himself apart from the lesser spacemarines, he would fight at their side until the last Red Corsair has fallen. Glories are secondary, brotherhood was of utmost importance to him. It was this trait of the Emperor's favored Primarch that allowed him to forge an unbreakable bond with his legion, and even forge alliances with those deemed impossible to deal with.

Horus twirled Soulrender gracefully above his head and swept a wide arc that robbed three champions of their limbs, then of their heads. He came to the defense of his men when needed, and drove the Red Corsairs back into the throneroom until the last champion fell before him. Now, what was left was to deal with Huron and end the reign of the Red Corsairs upon the Maelstrom. It would not be an easy task, but it was far from impossible.

"Come at me, Favored Son!" Huron bellowed, a mad grin upon his lips as he unleashed a torrent of prometheum on the Lupercal. He cackled gleefully, absolutely lost in the madness of knowing the maw of despair was upon him. "Claim your glory at the tip of your spear!"

"Be silent, fool!" Horus growled, annoyed with the Tyrant's babbling. He rose against the flames unscathed, protected by the psychic aura surrounding his armor.

"Only in death will I be silenced!" Huron's eyes blazed with an unearthly fire, his mind touched by the Hamadrya- a creature of the Warp that has always been by his side. Through the creature, he could see all that swirled within the Lupercal's thoughts, his doubts and fears and ambitions laid bare as the flayed skins that adorned Blackheart's armor. Horus' cause was pure, and his intentions were fair. There was nothing to exploit, and this frustrated the madman to no end.

"So be it." Horus replied, falling upon the former Chapter-Master of the Astral Claws with Soulrender ablaze with holy fire. The Wolf wrestled with the Bear, lashing claw and teeth, drawing blood upon the Blackstone throneroom. Horus bore the pain of his wounds with steely resolve, never once backing down from the fight as Huron grew desperate with each passing second.

Below, the duel between the Primarchs and Skarbrand had reached its climax. The Greater Daemon of Khorne could not best either one of the Emperor's sons, and no matter the bloodshed that would have given him strength he still could not overcome the skillfully coordinated attacks of the Raven Lord nor the zealous fury of the Master of Ultramar. Soon, the Emperor's Sword cleaved through the battered cuirass that covered the hateful foe's chest. The Raven Lord's whip coils around the beast's neck, exposing him for the final strike as Corvus pulled on the Bloodthirster with all his might.

With one brutal shove, Guilliman pierced Skarbrand's heart and banished him back to the roiling depths of the Brass Domain. At the execution of his Exiled One, Khorne nodded with silent approval over the conclusion, then turned his attention to the other champions calling his name in some distant wartorn world.

"It is done." Roboute heaved.

"He'll be back, it's not over." Corvus replied, taking to the skies swiftly to search for his brother Horus.

Meanwhile, in the throneroom, the loyalist terminators stepped aside to let the Primarch deal with the Tyrant of Badab alone. Another feat was to be written down in history's vast page, another victory to add to Horus' account. But the battle was not for glory, it never was. Horus was frustrated, near broken with grief that he refused to show all this time. Although he saved Cadia and in effect the whole Imperium from Abaddon's conquest, he remained unwelcome in the eyes of many. He deserved it, this was true.

But knowing that was not enough to silence his inner demons. These thoughts suddenly resurfaced, and Huron read it as clear as an open book.

"Is it worth it, Lord Horus?" Huron taunted as he spun the Lupercal around and pinned him against his chest with his own spear, locking him in place with Soulrender's shaft upon his neck. "All that effort to redeem yourself in the eyes of these men, in the eyes of your father, for naught?" The talons of his claw raked across Horus' face, "They see you as the monster that you are, hidden beneath a veil of penitence!" His words were reminiscent of those spoken by Abaddon's champion Urkanthos.

They will never fully embrace him as an ally, and he knew it. The only difference in his case was that Horus had decided time and time again to swallow that bitter pill and move on. This was just another one of those times.

Gasping in pain over the cuts on his cheek and neck, Horus leaned forward and knocked Huron square in the face with the back of his head. Released from the Tyrant's hold, Horus spun around and struck a blow that shattered Blackheart's jaw and drove him back into the throne. Quickly, Horus retrieved Soulrender and planted a foot upon the seated Tyrant. He gazed one last time upon the fallen one's face, grimacing at the sight of that ghastly smirk on his ruined features, and drove the holy spear through his heart- robbing him of the chance of resurrection. Huron groaned, then laughed as the flames ate at his flesh. Pain wracked his body as every blood vessel boiled and burst, even more so as the psychic energies erased his soul from both realspace and the Warp. There was no going back, he knew this to be so, but he rejoiced in the coming oblivion. "Death to the False Emperor!"

Horus snarled at this insult and withdrew Soulrender, scattering Huron's ashes all over the pedestal and leaving the throne devoid of its king.

The Blackstone Fortress had fallen.

 **}!{**


	21. The Devourers of Thought

**}!{**

By this time, despite the unreliable pace in which it traveled across the vast territories of the Imperium, news of Horus' intervention upon the Cadian Gate had reached the heart of mankind. As one would expect of the ruling class in these dark days, their fickle minds were seized with terror, a stark contrast to the lesser peoples who walked the streets below their gilded palaces. Though attempts to censor the news or twist it into vile propaganda have been made, the folk rejoiced at the coming of not one, but three Primarchs! Many saw this as the hope promised by the Emperor of Mankind all those years ago.

The lords and ladies of the capital world found themselves divided on the issue, but a greater number saw the Penitent Primarch as a threat and acted accordingly. These seeds of discord twisted their perception and clouded their judgement so much that it drove them to a near-maddening pace as they poured in every resource to prepare for the soon arrival of the Lupercal, no doubt set in motion by the Great Deceiver in an attempt hinder Horus in his quest to restore order to the chaotic and fractured Imperium of Man.

Since the dark days of the Horus Heresy, the number of seats on the Senatorum Imperialis has largely remained the same, fluctuating during various points of crisis before eventually returning to its original number. Each seat is filled by a leader from one of the most powerful Adepta and other organisations of the Imperium.

A complex web of tradition, skulduggery, promises of support, threats of retaliation and considerations of mutual interest binds them together and determines who holds office and who does not. In practice, some of the Imperium's Adepta and institutions are so powerful and vital that it would be unthinkable for their leader to not be granted a seat amongst the High Lords of Terra.

Naturally, over the long millennia, the unthinkable has happened many times over, however, and the existing High Lords often put in place an inordinate amount of measures to ensure that their seat is a permanent one - that upon their deaths their position is automatically filled by the new head of their organisation. The following offices are almost invariably represented as High Lords because they form the cornerstones of the Imperium, the most important of its ancient institutions.

Whereas in former days, the debates on every day's pressing concerns took years to reach a decision, the High Lords of Terra were of one mind for the first time in a millennia. This did not ensure that their decisions, as proven by their current circumstance, were the wisest of solutions. Like those who quaked at the news of the newly resurrected Horus Lupercal, they moved with purpose as they summoned all within their powers to bolster the defenses of the capital world.

For the lesser folk, it was a day of jubilation. For the Senatorum Imperialis, it was the second Horus Heresy.

The Emperor, who saw the backward minds of his servants, cast his disapproving gaze upon the hearts of those who took up the mantle of leadership and so trampled upon his ideals. Alas, their hearts were closed to correction, and they did not feel the pangs of guilt that could have shown them the error of their ways.

* * *

Horus grimaced as the apothecary saw to his wounds. There was no gentleness in his touch, only the hard and methodical methodology of a grizzled war medicus that cared little for comfort. "Be still, my lord." The apothecary grunted, "This will only take a second."

"So it is true?" The angelic voice of the Saint greeted the triumphant Primarch, "The Tyrant of Badab lies dead?"

"And the Blackstone Fortress is ours." Horus said with a nod, again wincing at the sting of the whining device in the apothecary's hand.

"There, my work is done." The old medicus muttered, "I'll take my leave now, Lord Horus."

"Wait." Horus called after the veteran, "What is your name?"

The apothecary stood at attention and removed his helm, revealing an ancient and horrifically scarred visage. His twin grey eyes held nothing but cold indifference, although Horus knew the astartes genuinely tried to show due respect. The stubs on his head numbered four, signifying four centuries of service to his chapter- a feat many consider rare and awesome. The man was of Ultramar Prime, it showed in the high-aired diction in each word pause of a sentence. Guilliman's people prided themselves on everything, from the smallest syllable in their spoken tongue to the majestic crafts that spanned their blue skies. "Apothecary Ygor of the Ultramarines 2nd Company, or rather what's left of it." The veteran rumbled, "I thank you for the honor of tending to your injuries, my lord. Many a man would kill for the chance to see a Primarch up close...and then live to tell the tale."

He didn't sound too happy about it. It was a mere pleasantry to avoid disrespect, nothing more. "I have heard of the fate of your brothers upon the Blackstone Fortress. Know that I feel the weight of their deaths as keenly as you."

"I thank you for your sympathies, Primarch." Ygor bowed, "Pardon my curtness, my lord, but I have many more brothers who have wounds to see to. I humbly ask that you do not delay me in my duties any further."

Horus did not take the veteran's words personally and let him be, turning to the Saint to oblige her needs for conversation. "How are you holding up? I heard the forces of Magnus gave you a hard time in the Maelstrom. Have the Sisters fared the ordeal well?"

The Saint's lower lip stiffened at the inquiry, "My Sisters have suffered heavy losses, but they are strong. The fallen have died as martyrs, and they now stand at the Emperor's side, waiting to be called to service when He wills it."

Horus had gotten used to the Imperium's view of the Emperor's divinity by now, the unwavering fealty they showed could almost tempt him to forsake the Imperial Truth and worship him as such. Almost, but not quite. He made that mistake in desperation when he first stumbled out of Hel'Nkuza, and he would not do so again. He saw the appeal, perhaps in the same way as Lorgar did, but would not have himself stoop so low. "I see. I had come to admire the Sisterhood for their unshakeable faith in my father. It is...good to believe in something when the days grow ever darker."

"No truer words have been spoken." Celestine beckoned the Primarch, "Will you walk with me, Lord Horus?"

"I don't see the harm in it." Horus replied, rising from the operating bench and picking up his helmet from the nearby table. The two entered the long and deserted halls of the _Golgo's Respite_ , watching in silence as the observatorium displayed the asteroid fields that surrounded the fleet on their left. Even after the horrific events of the past nine hours remained fresh upon their minds, Horus found the hidden beauty amongst the rubble in a way that no one else could. The cosmic luminance that shone through the stars dotting the vastness of space had played with the vision of the demigod, casting its brilliance through the decks that was more often ignored entirely by the crew operating on deck. "A magnificent sight, this one." He breathed, finding himself lost in his reflection of the war. "It is so easy to lose sight of what we're fighting for when time has eroded the reason of it all."

"Do you find yourself in doubt once more, Lord Horus?"

"Before I slew the Tyrant of Badab, he and I had an exchange of words that still rings clear in my head." Horus revealed, "He spoke of how my quest for redemption was meaningless, and that I would remain an enemy in the eyes of the Imperium for what I have done. His words were a taunt to goad me to act recklessly, but I cannot deny the sense in them."

"But my lord, these are the words of a madman." Celestine said, "You cannot allow it to cloud your judgement."

"It is not my judgement that I fear may be swayed, but those who sit upon their thrones on Terra." Horus shook his head sadly, "I was received better when I came to the defense of Cadia from Abaddon's onslaught, but that was only due to desperation. It easily eliminated doubts of my allegiances. But what of Terra? They are not under attack, and I will be held under much scrutiny."

"They will see reason." The Saint reassured, "You bring with you the two Primarchs of legend! Will they disregard the word of Lord Guilliman, or even of Lord Corax? And am I not at your side, a proclaimed Saint of the Ecclesiarchy?"

"You speak true." Horus said with a nod, "But I have seen the sore lack of reason in the Imperium. They will not see me or my brothers as liberators, but as conquerors coming to claim the Golden Throne as it was in the dark days of the civil war that I started."

"Emperor forbid!" Celestine exclaimed, astonished that she should hear such apprehensions coming from Horus of all people. "Would they dare to defy an explicit order from the God-Emperor himself?! No, my lord! The High Lords of Terra know better than that, you will see. They will know of your many victories, and they shall receive you with open arms."

Horus chuckled humorlessly, "I made the mistake of assuming my brother Roboute would be so forgiving, and he only stopped short of killing me because my father intervened. I do not expect him to do so again, and even if he did it will not be enough."

"My lord?"

"I know hatred more than anyone else in the Imperium, Celestine." Horus sighed, "The High Lords of Terra will only see what they want to see. I cannot lead a willing Imperium to the road of greatness while they yet sit as its leaders. Change must be implemented, but I know better than to think it would not come without cost. Having hold on such unlimited power over such a vast empire can twist the mind of even the most loyal of servants, you know this to be true, for there stands no better example than me. I will try to avoid having to command a second assault upon Terra, but if it is the only way to reach my father and restore the Imperium- I must do it."

Celestine surprised the Primarch with her answer. "Then I shall stand by you as you show them the error of their ways."

"Are you not going to try and sway me from this?" Horus asked quietly, absolutely humbled by the Saint's loyalty.

Her smile glowed like the sun, "I trust you, Lord Horus."

Horus felt a little lightheaded, but managed to stay composed. "You honor me with your trust, though I feel I still have not earned it."

The Saint replied, casting light upon a part of herself that no one else had known, "I have lead the Sisterhood in many battles, many a righteous cause that served to only further the ambitions of my betters. Although I had my duty as a Sister, later a Repentia, and finally a Saint, I felt utter disgust at how we were used as fodder and not as the servants of the Imperium that we were born to be! We die in serving the Emperor, but our lives are wasted when thrown into the flames day by day. But when I found myself serving under your banner, Lord Horus, I knew in my heart that there could be no greater cause than to follow you. Do you not see this? You have more than earned the loyalty of all those who follow you!"

Horus bowed his head, "Forgive me, I did not realize how deep your convictions were. Perhaps when we reach the Golden Throne, at last these doubts will be shed."

"My lord, only a fool would think that uncertainty can be ignored. It is an enemy that hounds you in your waking moments and in your sleep. It is an enemy that cannot be killed, merely defeated- much like the Chaos gods."

"I do not believe in that." Horus addressed the latter of her sentence, "When my father returns- and he will- there will be a reckoning for the Ruinous Powers. Order will reign, and Chaos will lie dead at its feet."

"If you say that it is possible, then I shall gladly choose to believe you."

The two walked on in silence for a few moments more, reveling in the sweet respite offered in each other's company. One can easily mistake the relationship the two shared for something more intimate, but the facts were lost on the two. Too many things swirled within their minds to even think of it, and the respect they had for each other had formed a nigh impenetrable barrier that not even the strongest psykers could shatter.

Perhaps one day they shall come to their senses, but that day was not today.

"Tell me of the God-Emperor, my lord." Celestine broke the silence. "What is He like?"

The question demanded an answer that spanned the whole Sol system, perhaps even the vast entirety of the Imperium itself! Horus endeavored to be specific with his answer for her sake, for the Emperor was an enigma that even he- the favored Primarch- had not fully understood. "My father was a conqueror with a heart of gold that held infinite compassion. I'm sure you've heard tales of all his endeavors to save mankind from extinction many times over."

"But you know they are exaggerated, I want to hear of the tale told by one who knew Him best!" Celestine's eager tone was that of a little girl begging her father to tell her one last bedtime story.

"Very well." Horus obliged. There were many stories he could tell of the Emperor, so many that choosing one of them proved too great a challenge, so he selected at random. "You have heard of the Battle for Ignis IV, yes?"

Celestine's brows furrowed as she slowly shook her head, "I'm sorry, my lord. I've never heard of it."

"Ah, I do not blame you." Horus laughed, "Many great tales tend to overshadow that brief campaign, but it is one of the most significant times in my past life." It was also where the Emperor proved that Horus was more than just a tool to him, but a son and valued warrior. "When the Great Crusade was at its first decade-

 _"Pardon the interruption, my lord."_ Captain Goodwill's vox chattered, _"We are about to begin Warp jump to Segmentum Solar. Lord Guilliman and Lord Corax are present at the bridge and are requesting your involvement."_

"I'm on my way, thank you captain." Horus smiled, turning to Celestine. "Alas, we shall have to continue the story some other time then." Bading her farewell, the Primarch took the shortcut up to the bridge to meet his brothers.

* * *

The moons were closer now than before. One can see the craters upon their faces without having to look too closely. It was a sight to see, and the world rejoiced in the festivities of the Lunar Conjunction.

They did so, in the last forty two hours of their lives, for the people of Suttra II had always enjoyed peace at the backwater worlds far from the chaos of the war beyond. One can even say that they never even knew war, for with the erratic shifts of the nebula surrounding their system it was difficult for any ship to navigate even with the most advanced tools. Warp was impossible due to the storms plaguing its reefs, and so the Suttra subsystem remained untouched.

That is, until today.

It came so sudden and swift, like the reaper's scythe upon the tall stalks of grain in harvest time.

The sky had turned black as the death mist descended upon the agricultural paradise, then turned upon the populace. Spores produced hulking brutes sporting vicious claws of every shape and size, then let loose on the hapless victims of the cities dotted upon Suttra II's surface. Human blood and gore spilled the streets, and the bodies were left where they fell, only to be gathered up to the biomass pools of the capillary towers that suddenly sprung free from the poisoned ground.

Like monsters of legend, the tendrils of the Tyranid Hive Fleet descended from the broken skies, sapping at the life of the planet until nothing remained but a dried husk.

This was not Leviathan, Dagon or Gorgon. Neither was it Hydra.

Unlike its predecessors who now roamed freely upon the Imperium's territories, Hive Fleet Numosa- a designation hastily placed by the few who survived its onslaught- distinguished itself through the purpose of sating the Collective Consciousness' curiosity. As one might learn from devouring, so too did Numosa endeavor to learn as much as it can from the worlds it chances upon and further perfect the forms it births through its gene pools.

A humanoid creature stepped forth from its chrysalis to survey the results of its work. The Hive Lord- or more accurately the Queen, as was evident of its feminine form, shared her thoughts to the Fleet and gave voice to her desire to move on in the pursuit of knowledge. The accumulated result on this find was too little, and Numosa needed more- much more.

Like a moth attracted to the flame, Hive Fleet Numosa was drawn to the psychic influence of the Astronomican, much like the other Fleets. But it will not just strip the worlds in its path for reproduction, it will take its time to absorb, to learn.

To hunt, to consume.

To adapt.

The Queen cast her baleful red eyes upon the darkened horizon and screamed. A million birth-cries of newborn humanoid-variant Tyranids echoed the shared thought. Suttra was the not the first to fall, and it will not be the last.

 **}!{**


	22. The Enemy of My Enemy

**This chapter took a while to write. Sorry, been busy with a lot of things. Didn't want to forget about my other fics, you know how it is.**

 **}!{**

"What seems to be the problem?" Horus entered the war-room, where his brothers Guilliman and Corax awaited over a holotable displaying the Segmentum Primus- the Heart of Mankind. "Our arrival comes as a surprise?"

"Yes, but not the good kind." Corvus, grim as always, replayed an encrypted vox-transmission picked up from the channels sent back and forth in the local systems. The message repeated twice,

 _" **++ Vox-Transmission Designation Red ++ Alpha Thirteen-Six-Nine-Six++** Glory to the Emperor and his Eternal Throne! Servants of the Imperium, the time has come. Rumor had given birth to truth. The Arch-Traitor Horus Lupercal has returned from the dead, stronger and more powerful than ever before! While our mighty Primarchs slept, his Talon had slipped into their minds, poisoning them until they were swayed into the side of Chaos! A worse fate awaits the worlds he has touched, for they now stand tainted- a plan the Arch-Traitor dares to enact upon Holy Terra! He marches now for Segmentum Solar, unabated as his foul treachery has deceived so many we thought vigilant!_

 _Join the fleets mustering about the Eternity Gate! Fill your hearts with hate, you who have heard the truth spoken, that there shall be no_ _room for doubt! May your zeal guide you through the approaching darkness, and give you strength when we shall soon face the Arch-Traitor!  
_

 _Emperor help us all! **++ Transmission End ++** "_

"Damnation."

"Agreed." Corax said with a nod, "Our approach to Terra has been blocked at every turn." The tactical map showed as much as the Raven Lord said. The Imperial routes leading into the heart of the Imperium had been set upon by the thousand-strong Imperial fleets, and with each passing day they grew by the hundred. With the battered state of the Terran Crusade armada, though bolstered by the Ravenguard flotilla, a direct confrontation would undoubtedly end in failure.

Horus had no intention on attacking Terra a second time. He had hoped that his actions in recent times would be enough to shed enough of the Imperium's doubts of his allegiance to mankind. And yet, as evident of what he saw and heard, it was not to be.

Guilliman was enraged. "Those backbiting cowards!" He needn't say it, the frustration over the backward thinking of the human race in this dark millennium was great on their end.

"I've analyzed every detail." Corax pointed to each and every one of the guarded routes, "There lies not one flaw in their defense makeup. Clearly, your past attempt to take Terra had left little room for bravado. Even Rogal Dorn would be pleased with their work."

"I am not here to seize Terra, brother." Horus frowned, "I am here to bring hope to the Imperium, not with sword or bolter-fire, but with words born from the lips of our father the Emperor. Attacking the defense fleets will render all I've worked for undone. Instead of marching upon them with weapons primed, we must focus on a way to convince the High Lords of Terra of our true intentions."

"Diplomacy will not work with these people." Guilliman snorted, "I had great difficulty, even with my influence, to turn the hatred of Ultramar away from you. How much more for Terra and the whole Solar Segmentum, who take hatred and loathing of you to a new level? Kind words and promises of peace will not sway them."

"Perhaps not through me." Horus mused, "Humor me, what is it that they fight for?"

"An easy inquiry." Corvus Corax crossed his arms, "They fight for the Emperor and the Imperium, they'll fight even harder knowing that the Golden Throne is but a sky away from the second Horus Heresy."

Ignoring the latter of the sentence, Horus replied. "Then they will follow the words of the Emperor to the letter, would they not?"

"What are you getting at, Horus?"

"All of us had been given the chance to speak to our father through the astral form. I propose that we give that same chance to the Imperium, who have waited for the silence to break with baited breath." The Cthonian grinned, "The Emperor's grip on reality is waning, but we can lend him strength as he had lent us his."

"I like where this is going." Guilliman smirked.

"We're going to build a Psychic Amplifier, wrought by no one else but Archmagos Cawl." Horus said, "With it, mankind shall hear the Emperor's words and they shall know the error of their ways. We don't even need to raise our weapons against one another. The war upon Terra would've ended before it even started."

"It will be a tremendous undertaking, that's for sure." Guilliman nodded, "But with the Adeptus Mechanicus, what is too impossible to build?"

"We'd better get to work then." Corvus placed his hands over the war-table, "In the meantime, I shall continue to find ways to counter the assault of the defense fleets should things go south."

"Brother, have faith." Horus smiled, "We've been through worse."

The Raven Lord shook his head, "Our father always said; When in doubt, know your way out."

Roboute Guilliman was halfway across the elevator when he strove to correct his brother's remark with a humorous jibe, "Actually, I believe it was; When in doubt, burn them out."

* * *

 **++ Distance to Combat Zone/  
_30 KM**

 **Pilot Status/**

 **_**  
 **No Data ++**

The earth shook as every footstep deliberately planted itself full, weight measuring a hundred tons promising a fiery death to all who would stand against the ancient killing machine.

 **++ Directive Code 108-AE108/  
Waking Pilot/ ++**

With rusting frame and livery worn away by the elements, yet carrying on with the strength of the centuries, the Freeblade Knight _Braveheart_ marched on as it had always done for much of its life, serving the vengeful pilot it housed within its Throne Mechanicum. The screen within the shell of plasteel and hard ceramite flickered to life, finally dragging the pilot out of his long slumber.

 **++ Interface Handshake Successful/  
** **Awaiting Pilot Commands/++**

Maxwell groaned and sat himself upright. Being hooked up to a neural interface engine did not allow much room for mobility in the Throne Mechanicum, but with what little he could make of his situation he moved to drive the soreness out from his aching muscles. _The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak._ A wise man once said that in a time long forgotten, words that described the knight errant's state quite accurately.

The machine-spirit, on the other hand, as was its plasteel-ceramiticate counterpart, proved hardy in the face of the storms of time. For near a century Maxwell Raritan had roamed the Ricala Expanse, lending his Plasma Decimators that fired a nigh-limitless stream of blue ionizing charges as aid to the helpless colonies dotting the rich green worlds within the Expanse.

The HUD showed the pilot his destination, which lay at the bottom of a massive chasm carved out by an ancient river that had long dried up. The remains of long-dead war engines piled up at the muddied banks like gravestones in a cemetery, a permanent impression made in the wake of a senseless battle of old that never reached its climax- much like the wars fought today.

Deathsinger, a ruthless adamantine-toothed chain-grinder and Doomsayer, a volcano lance powerful enough to core out a lumbering Squiggoth or behead an enemy Titan- the oracles of death, lay within arms reach and eager to bathe the Knight's enemies with blood and fire.

After standing at the edge of the cliffs, by all accounts there seemed to be no enemy here today, much to Raritan's disappointment.

Annoyed that his time had been wasted, the Knight lumbered off in search of another battle, still wondering what drew his Titan to this area in the first place. The machine-spirits have been playing tricks on him again, he was sure of it.

 **++ Warning: Anomaly Detected/  
** **Automatic Defense Protocols Initiated ++**

An anomaly? "It better not be another false alarm." Raritan muttered. Over the years he had grown accustomed to allowing the Titan to search out his enemies for him, finding that the servitor-brains piloting the auto-cycles were more than capable of such a task when left to themselves. In this universe fraught with war, one needn't look too far for an enemy- and the servitors always found one for him.

What Raritan secretly craved was a friend, more than he ever needed an enemy. The vengeful fire that burned in his heart had been left to mere embers by now, and the Knight had grown weary of battle without even truly realizing it.

 **++ HUD Updated/  
** **Recommend Caution ++**

The Knight returned to the spot on the cliff he had stood upon earlier and prepared to make the jump. The HUD showed that the anomaly was located The servos primed, whirring noisily as the heavy body bent at the knees and leaped off the ledge into the chasm below. The rush of air stole the breath from Raritan's lungs as he hurtled across empty space. His lips contorted into a grimace as he prepared himself for the inevitable impact that would soon follow.

Though the force of the crash was suspended equally throughout the Titan's stabilizers, Raritan could feel the resulting shudder violently shake his innards from within their cavities. Recovering quickly, the Knight readied his weapons and pressed forward, following the trench dug into the mecha graveyard he had jumped into. Something like a meteor or a form of satellite had crashed here, certainly not of human make. The Freeblade had seen his fair share of stranger things, so it came as no surprise that the anomaly would be of xeno origin. Still, he had to investigate. This system held one human colony, and so all the threats he deemed as such should be treated seriously.

The meteor was wrought from an unknown metal, possibly the remains of an ancient vessel that stumbled into the system and was brought down by the planet's gravity field. It still glowed with the heat of re-entry, not more than a couple hours old as it would seem.

Unlike most Titans, _Braveheart_ was created with a pair of functional hands for tasks that required a more dexterous approach. It proved useful in this instance, and Raritan used them to purpose.

The shreds wrapping the artifact were torn away, and the Knight soon found himself staring at a strange sarcophagus-shaped capsule that housed some form of liquid metal. Raritan tilted his head to the side as the omniscanners registered the substance as unknown, classifying the search as nil and recommended that the Knight abandon the investigation entirely.

"Not a total waste of time." Raritan shrugged, opting to leave the artifact where he found it. "Let some scavenger make use of this."

 **++ WARNING! Weapons Discharge Detected!/**

 **Primary Shields Activated/  
** **Combat Systems Primed and Ready for Battle/ FOR THE EMPEROR! ++**

Screaming warheads thundered against the _Braveheart's_ massive shoulder, Raritan gazed outward unfazed as he leered at his assailants. "Got that right." There were six of them, half were interceptor-class frigates and half were battle-drones about the size of his own Titan- all of xeno origin. Deathsinger roared to life, and Doomsayer echoed his brother with a shrill whine. Raritan gave no battlecry as he charged headlong into the fray, guns and chain-grinder screaming at the foul xeno machinations.

One of them came at him from behind while he busied himself with the first. They were armed with digi-weaponry, a marvel of technology that Raritan had only witnessed the Tau could only use. But these were not Tau, they were too adept in the melee to be considered as such. Razor sharp lances of light shot out from their gauntlets, striking at the _Braveheart's_ shields with the force of a shifting tectonic plate. The HUD screamed every second he spent in combat, for the xenos never let a single moment slip by that they would not strike at the Freeblade Titan.

 **++ WARNING! Primary Shields Approaching Critical Levels!**

 **Rerouting Auxillary Power/ ++**

"Damnation!" Raritan huffed. His weapons were near overheated, and he still hadn't made a single dent on either one of his opponents! He had underestimated them, a mistake that could very well cost his life. He would not die- not to the xenos!

One of them knocked _Braveheart_ so hard that the Titan lost its balance, driving away the last shred of shielding Raritan had on hand and sending the Freeblade toppling over onto its back! Raritan forced the hands to raise their weapons in spite of his position, he managed to get them halfway up before the massive foot of the xeno-Titan clamped down on Deathsinger. A lance drove itself on Doomsayer, pinning the Volcano Lance upon the earth.

The Knight narrowed his eyes as he glared defiantly up at his enemies. With a single thought, he instructed the servitors to initiate the Final Protocol.

 **++ FINAL PROTOCOL INITIATED/  
** **STANDING BY...++**

If he was to die, he would take them down with them. If he failed to do so, he wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

Suddenly, the artifact he had left naught but a few meters away from the battle sprung to life, sending the seemingly-sentient gooey substance out of the capsule and into the surprised visage of the first xeno-Titan! Raritan could not believe his eyes as he watched the living metal dissolve the armor of the enemy mecha with ease, then witnessed as it issued a violent takeover, forcing the Titan to turn on its fellows and strike them down where they stood!

Raritan was no simpleton. They hadn't come looking for a mere fight with an ancient war-machine like the _Braveheart_. They came for the artifact.

It was of xeno origin, that much was clear, but it was more advanced technologically-speaking than anything he'd ever seen. This was no daemonic entity, for the Warp was not strong in this place. Experience with Chaos-ridden systems had taught him much. This was something else entirely.

 **++ FINAL PROTOCOL READY/  
** **Awaiting Pilot Commands/ ++**

"Deactivate." Raritan muttered, focusing all his efforts to get his Titan back on its feet. To his dismay, he was unable to do so.

The last of the enemy Titans had fallen, and the possessed one stood triumphant. As the frigates dove down to neutralize it, the Titan wrested them away from the skies with a casual leap and brought them down against the earth. A few stomps and savage tears later, the ships burst into flames. Standing tall over the wrecks, the Titan turned towards the fallen Freeblade, its intentions still unclear to the astonished human. As it approached, Raritan desperately tried to lift the fractured limbs of his Titan to bring its weapons to bear. Even with all the might of the ancient war-machine, it could not do so with so much sustained damage.

He could not reactivate the Final Protocol in time for whatever the entity planned, so the Knight was forced to await his fate with baited breath.

He expected it to drive its lance through the battered surface of the _Braveheart's_ armor, impaling him upon its tip to send him screaming to the void, but then wondered why it hesitated.

Maxwell Raritan needn't wait too long for the answer to his question, for the living-substance leaped free from its mount, latching onto the _Braveheart's_ hull and squeezing itself through the cracks of its armor! Moving with the speed of a serpent slithering downhill, the substance poured through every breach and shattered surface, forcing the cracks to close as it made its way into the Throne Mechanicum.

Paralyzed with fear and indecision, Raritan could only watch as the entity moved to repair the Titan- only as means to serve as its new host! Inside the _Braveheart_ , he was helpless. The Knight prayed that whatever fate was reserved for him, it would not involve the slaughter of the innocents.

 **++ WARNING! Neural Interface System Compromised!**

 **Detected Foreign Influence/  
** **Attempting to Compensate/**

 **ERROR! REQUESTING MANUAL OVERRIDE ++**

Suddenly, everything within the Throne Mechanicum was plunged into darkness as the entity succeeded in overriding the servitor auto-cycle. A new voice spoke in the shell, addressing the pilot- now a prisoner within his own mount.

 **++ Apologies for the inconvenience, but I must commandeer this vehicle. You will hate me for this, that is certain, but I hope that in time you will come to understand. ++**

Something cold slips into the back of his head, and Raritan soon felt himself drift away. Struggling at that point was futile, but struggle he did. Soon, the pilot fell asleep, leaving the _Braveheart_ in full control of the Abomination Intelligence.

 **}!{**

 **Credits to Kaizero6, who provided the idea for Freeblade Knight _Braveheart_ and the OC Maxwell Raritan.**


	23. The Second Battle for Terra Part One

**}!{**

The metal beam pinning her down against the floor groaned as Captain Maranda Goodwill fought to push against its crushing weight. Disaster struck the Terran Crusade where she least expected. Being out in the front, where loyalties are strong between allies, has dulled her perception on the inner workings of the Imperium. What they had fought for, the values and ideals that they strove to uphold, was rotten to the core.

The events of today have been evidence enough.

Lord Horus had put his faith in the Psychic Amplifier Project, although it wasn't misplaced it did not guarantee that the Lords of Terra would be convinced. Nevertheless, she had followed him through worse odds, Goodwill would not back down then. Neither did those who marched under the Lupercal's banner. They had two Primarchs with them, which should have been more than enough proof of their intentions. Alas, it was not to be.

The Lords of Terra had amassed a fleet bigger than anything mankind had ever managed in thousands of years, their cause uniting all banners and ceasing all infightings in likened purpose. Their hatred for the Redeemed Primarch was so great that they had abandoned their little wars of attrition in favor of what they perceived as a higher calling- the Defense of Holy Terra.

And yet what enemy were they fighting with, but their own kin?

Maranda hissed through gritted teeth as a sharp pain exploded up her right side, born from a wound where a shrapnel had torn through. Her anger doubled as the agony seared hot like a brand pressing down on her ribs. "Damnation!" The woman crawled out of the pile of debris and climbed up on unsteady legs, "Somebody give me a status report!"

No one else onboard the _Golgo's Respite_ bridge was left alive after that suicide bomber made a beeline for the observatorium and detonated before the prow main batteries could take it out. The emergency sealants have done their work and covered the breach, but not in time to save the remaining crewmen from being sucked out into the void of space. All around the derelict battlecruiser were Imperial vessels giving all they've got at each other.

One side was desperate to reach Terra at all costs, to bring an end to this madness. The other, just as desperate to lay the man they knew as the Arch-Traitor low.

They had met them in good faith, but Horus overestimated their willingness to accept him. The Psychic Amplifier, to say the least, did not help his case any better.

Maranda remembered vaguely awaiting the results with baited breath, as Horus addressed the fleets guarding the gates to Segmentum Solar. He stood at the helm of her vessel, the Amplifier sat upon the floor behind him, primed and ready for its initiation. Thousands upon thousands of Imperial vessels filled the void of space, their numbers totally overwhelming the tally of the Terran Crusade. False hope sprung within the hearts of the battered loyalists as the defending fleets did not initiate the first strike.

Perhaps it was a moment's pause in the commander's decision, a providence born from the Emperor's hand?

They could not be certain, for the end results annulled such speculations.

The Amplifier, linked to the psychic network of the Terran Crusade fleet astropaths, had formed its connection with Holy Terra. If such a thing was possible, Maranda could not know for certain, but she trusted in the skill of the Arch-Magos' craftmanship. Somehow, the connection grew strong, at the cost of the lives of all the astropaths in every Terran Crusade ship that had linked to the Amplifier's nexus.

She remembered it, still fresh from a few hours prior to disaster, the commanding voice of the Emperor himself.

 _ **"Bring my son to me."**_

All who heard the spoken words fell prostrate where they stood, be it the defense fleets or the Terran Crusade. It seemed that the impending assault would be avoided altogether, but alas, in this grim darkness...

There is only war.

 _ **++ Priority Alert to all Defense Fleets ++**_

 _"The Emperor has spoken, after a thousand years of silence!"_

A pause, then fervent prayers could be heard.

 _"We...we will not fail him!"_ The zealous commander screamed, _"Bring the Arch-Traitor before the Golden Throne! Lay waste to the heretics! Attack!"_

Those words led them here. Maranda couldn't help but wish, blasphemous though it may be, that the Emperor had worded his sentence a little bit differently. "Forgive me, my god, but surely you know that the masses are as ignorant as they can be?" The captain muttered a prayer as she dressed her injury. The hot paste seared her wound shut, and the injection assured a cessation in the biting agony in her side.

Unmanned at the moment, the _Golgo's Respite_ was making a plunge headlong into the thundering batteries of four Gloriana-class Battlecruisers.

"Captain?" Lord Horus Lupercal ascended to the ruined observatorium, "Do you require assistance?"

"My liege!" Maranda cried out in surprise, "Emperor be praised, you live!"

The Lupercal wasn't listening, his eyes were fixed on the shattered Amplifier. "Well, there goes our only chance at getting them to stop shooting." The Primarch shook his head, giving notice to the grievous state of the cruiser. "Never mind. We have to get off this ship."

"But my lord, there is still hope for my vessel!" Maranda protested, dragging her dead bosun off the console to bring up the HUD indicating the battleship's status. The blinking red colors did little to aid in her attempt to save the _Golgo's Respite_. "No!"

"Come, Goodwill." Horus chided her, "The _Golgo's Respite_ is lost, going down with it changes nothing. Your life matters more than this ship, let go of the sentiment!"

The captain sighed, "Forgive me, milord. I forget myself." She yanked on a lever to signal the evacuation of the battlecruiser, then the two headed out into the shattered corridors leading into the escape pods. When Maranda stepped into the pod with the rest of her crew, she noticed the Primarch remain out back. "My lord?"

"I will be fine, Captain." Horus replied. "I shall clear a path for the pods to safely escape the battle. I cannot promise a quick reunion, but know that I shall see you again soon. I will not give up this endeavor to reach Terra." With that, the Primarch initiated the release sequence, shutting the pod doors and jettisoning them out into space.

The artificial environment in his armor kicked in, and Horus was enveloped in a mute cocoon as the air within the breached compartment was sucked out along with pieces of loose debris. Horus had an idea, amidst the palpable shudder of each shell thundering against the failing gellar shields of the _Golgo's Respite._ The ship was picking up speed, he had only to drive it to its proper course.

Horus returned to the bridge and sat upon the Throne Mechanicum. The consoles that remained functional lit up as they sensed the Primarch's presence. The Lupercal looked up at the shattered observatorium and muttered to himself, "My plan might not have worked, father, but there's still a chance." The blockade had to be breached before any of them could go further. "A very slim chance." The Primarch said, gaze narrowing as he put the ship on full throttle.

"Horus!"

His eyes widened as the Saint glided into the bridge, "Celestine! What are you doing here? Why did you not leave with the Sisters?"

"I was informed that you yet remained aboard the vessel, so I went to investigate, fearing that you were injured in the attack." The Saint explained, "That being said, I must ask why you chose to be here instead of being at the side of your brothers?"

"Terra must be reached." Horus replied, "I go with the faint glimmer of hope that there are those who have heard the Emperor's words and re-evaluated my convictions. If I flee now, I prove to be the traitor they see. That, I shall never do."

"Look around you, Lord Horus! The Terran Crusade is shattered to its very core, the fleets have scattered! Am I to understand you will make this blind jump into Holy Terra, absent an army at your back?"

"I don't need an army to approach Terra." Horus smiled beneath his helm, "I have you."

Celestine's jaw fell slack. Horus' words meant differently, but the way she took it was another thing entirely. "My lord?"

"They are zealous in the Emperor's faith, are they not?" He asked, "We may be able to sway a great number to our cause when they see you standing at my side. A Saint's involvement is proof of the Emperor's will, so to speak."

"Or they may see us as they do now, as agents of Chaos, and still turn their weapons on us."

"A gamble." Horus shrugged.

"An act of faith." Celestine smiled nervously.

"Yes." The Primarch turned his gaze out into the blazing skies of Luna, where the battle had reached its peak. "Are you with me, Saint Celestine? Will you aid me in this endeavor, wherever it may take us?"

"You needn't ask, my lord." Celestine replied, "I had vowed to follow you, and I will not break it."

"Then prepare yourself." Horus warned, bracing himself as the warheads rained down upon the ruined voidship. "This is only about to get worse."

* * *

The Grandmaster of the Officio Assassinorum crossed his arms and looked on his fellow Lords with growing disapproval and resentment. He had heard the Emperor's words clear as if spoken in person as the next man, but where others had answered with vehement hate, he actually took pause to consider his god's decree.

If he wanted this returned Warmaster dead, he would've said it all very differently. "Why am I the only one considering this?"

"Considering what, Grandmaster?" Trajann Valoris inquired.

"You know of what I speak, Captain-General." The Grandmaster replied, "Do you not see our fellows blindly seizing this opportunity, while our own Lord and god had implied a vastly contrasting commandment. I sense heresy of the highest order, and I feel that I cannot stand for this."

"You would dare to believe that Horus Lupercal has come in good faith?" Valoris asked, "After everything he has done?"

"What has he done, but act to redeem himself? Is he truly lost to us, the greatest of our Primarchs and favored son of the Emperor, that we would shun him when we clearly need him the most?"

"Arch-traitor, blasphemer and Greatest of Heretics."

"Savior of Cadia, Slayer of Abaddon, Redeemed Son."

The Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes shook his head, "He is all these things. Too much hangs in the balance for us to gamble upon his word. We should not speak of this amongst ourselves, lest we sow seeds of dissent that the Ruinous Powers might exploit."

"To deny it is heresy."

"To act on it is heresy."

The Grandmaster frowned, "What is heresy, but a matter of perspective?"

"Careful, Grandmaster." Valoris replied, "You speak of dangerous things."

"We live in dangerous times." He returned, growing even more certain with his conviction with each word that fell from his lips. "If you will not support me in this, I shall walk this path alone. I would prefer not to, but circumstance will force my hand."

"Treachery within the heart of the Imperium? Now, that I will not stand for." The Captain-General drew his waraxe, to the surprise of all that looked on. The large chamber, in which the High Lords of Terra met to pool in their forces and command the Defense Fleets, was filled with both the Lords themselves and their corresponding retinue of guardian squads and servitors. They had taken notice of the exchange between the two Lords and caught on with the latter of the words fallen from the Grandmaster's lips.

"Is it really?" The Grandmaster replied calmly. He needn't draw him weapon, for all around them unseen were his own assassins, poised to strike with but a nod from their commander.

"What is going on here?" The Lord Commander of Segmentum Solar cried. "Have the seeds of dissent born from Horus' hand taken root, here in the citadel of mankind?!"

"It is not dissent, but misplaced vengeance, that had taken root!" The Grandmaster answered, "I have given it much thought, I do not act on a whim! I am sure of my convictions! We are all making a serious error, ignoring the Emperor's command!"

"He commands us to apprehend the Arch-traitor!" Trajann roared.

"He commands us to welcome the Redeemed Primarch!" The Grandmaster retorted, "Disobedience is heresy! Continue in this endeavor, and I will commence extermination!"

"Your words, your end." Trajann declared, dropping his visor down to shield himself from the assassin's bullet. In a flash, the Adeptus Custodes knights formed a tight shield formation around their commander the moment the bolt rounds started flying. The Grandmaster withdrew quickly and took cover behind a marble pillar, signaling his men to commence said extermination.

"Kill them all! Kill the heretics!" The Grandmaster shouted above the noise of gunfire.

"Heresy!" The Cardinal of the Holy Synod of Terra foolishly cast himself out of cover, holding naught but an ancient rosarius to protect himself. "This is heresy! Cease this pointless exchange and repent! I beg of you!"

His words fell on deaf ears as the overzealous leaders gave action to their bottled up years of resentment and animosity at each other. Lord battled against lord with steel against steel, bolter against laspistol and some at the psychic level!

The Grandmaster whirled around as Trajann caught up to him, drawing his full greatblade in response to the warlord's master-crafted waraxe. "You've longed for this, I gather?"

"My duty to the Emperor stands above my own passion!" The Captain-General snarled, striking the Grandmaster's blade with his own. The waraxe collided hard against the adamantine steel, sending sparks flying where the edge had bitten. "But I do take pleasure in slaying traitors!"

The Grandmaster smiled sadly as he parried the younger warrior's strikes with ease, "A pity it had to come to this. It is truly a deserved end for a dying Imperium when our own zeal blinds us to the edge we so desperately hurtle for."

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 **I know, I know. This chapter should've been longer, and should've come sooner. But c'mon, I aim to deliver quality stuff.**


	24. The Second Battle for Terra Part Two

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"I'm starting to think this was a bad idea."

Horus chuckled, "Your opinion is noted, though I wouldn't echo the sentiment. This is the only good idea left to us." The Primarch narrowed his eyeslits as the cockpit was enwreathed in the ship's blinding re-entry flash, "Brace for impact. If memory serves me well, I've steered us a quarter of a mile away from the Eternity Gate. A great number of structures will undoubtedly be in the vicinity."

"It is not the structures that I worry about, Lord Horus." Celestine confessed, "It is the bolters held in the hands of the faithful. They remain blind to your true allegiance, and it is no mere assumption to say that they call me a false Saint. Were it by other circumstance, I would brand them as heretics. But they are being misled, nothing more."

"Your heart is heavy." Horus said as the roar of the shuddering voidship grew ever stronger. "That is good. It means you still care."

"It is a distraction."

"It is what makes us human."

Celestine frowned, "But we...we are not human. Not anymore?"

"Your uncertainty is answer enough." Horus replied, "Do you think that even with the blood of the Emperor flowing through my veins makes me a god? No, even with his gifts I remain irrevocably human. Never forget it, lest you fall like so many others."

"I'll try not to, although there is much evidence to the contrary."

The skies above the metropolis opened up as a gigantic ball of fire shot out of the heavy gray clouds swirling above, bearing the burning wreck of the _Golgo's Respite_ as it made its mad plunge into Terra's airspace. Frightened eyes look up in horror as the massive streak of flame barrels in with the speed of a charging Squiggoth, a desperate scramble for cover was made as the wreck soared just a few feet above ground before touching down completely. Then, the horrid crash reverberated across the unfortunate Terran district as the derelict voidship made planetfall. Dust, rubble, bodies and debris flew in all directions as the ship's prow carves up a jagged path across the stacked structures, leaving naught but destruction in its wake as the tremendous weight of the voidship throttled it forward.

Horus shook off the vertigo caused by the initial strike and stretched forth his spear, bathing the wreck in a psychic cocoon of energy that it may halt the ship's advance. A single bead of sweat trickled down his brow as he fought to regain control of the vessel, his guilt for the innocents caught in the resulting crash growing with each meter covered by the voidship as much as giving him an incentive to pour in all his effort in stopping the wreck in its tracks. "Come on..." The Primarch groaned, "...you son of a bitch!"

Then, the ship made a sudden lurch forward that threw both the Primarch and Saint off balance momentarily, having been stopped by the sheer force of the Lupercal's will. Horus preferred to have halted it sooner, but the feat was accomplished nevertheless with lesser casualties than what would have been.

"Now what?" Celestine inquired.

"Now..." Horus heaved, "...we march for the Golden Throne."

Recovering quickly from the shock of the crash, the two descended from the ruined observatorium and leaped from the ledge to the streets below. Just as swiftly, the vigilant defenders of the capital homeworld swarmed in like locusts when they realized exactly who it was that arrived on Terra. At first glance, they did not recognize the tall being stepping forth from the clouds of dust and smoke- at least that was the case with the lowborn of Terran society. The Saint would have swayed their thoughts to a more welcoming mood, had the officers kept silent and considered the words of the Emperor as the Grandmaster had.

Alas, neither did they.

The Astartes stationed upon Terra lifted their guns and bellowed, "The Arch-Traitor! Kill him!" Then the roar of bolter, lasgun and lascannon drowned out the rest.

Guardsmen, spacemarine and battle-servitors took positions to block the path into the Eternity Gate. Battle machinations, dreadnoughts and Titans lumbered noisily into the fray. No amount of firepower was considered too much for the enemy they faced today, no amount of hate too great for the vilest of betrayers. Their Emperor, as they perceived, had spoken. Horus would be brought before the Golden Throne, in chains or in ruins.

Horus twirled his spear once and held it aloft, casting a protective bubble around himself and Celestine. He knew this would be the welcome he would receive, "We must press on!"

"Heretics! All of them!" The wrathful Saint screamed, drawing her Ardent Blade to lash out against those who would dare defy the Emperor's will. She was stopped by Horus just as she was about to dispense judgement, "What are you doing?"

"This is not the way!" Horus said, the Primarch closed his eyes and poured on his thoughts to the enchanted weapon, throwing forth the shield bubble in one gigantic golden shockwave that severely impaired those it struck and disarmed those few gifted with the hardiest of wills. The Imperial Fists champions convulsed for a moment, dropping their bolters as they felt their fingers grow numb and taut.

When they attempted to bring their weapons to bear, the firearms burst into flames or fell apart completely! In anger, they lifted their gaze against the Lupercal and drew their swords.

"Would you have them kill you then, when you are so close to your goal?" Celestine asked.

"I will not spill the blood of loyalists while I have yet the means to avoid it!" Horus answered, turning to the advancing tide. "Forward!"

The astartes bellowed forth their challenge and charges straight for the Warmaster, battleswords raised high in a desperate attempt to lay him low. Horus was true to his word and desire to avoid killing the ignorant, moving to disarm and incapacitate rather than outright slaying each spacemarine that came before him. This feat should've been impossible for even the greatest duelist, but not for Horus. As if moving through water, the lesser astartes were comparably sluggish to the Warmaster's umatched grace. Even Celestine was awed by his ability to weave about the chaos of the melee without laying a single casualty to the Imperial Fists.

"Do you not see?" Celestine snatched a warrior off of his feet as she declared Horus' innocence, "We are not your enemy! What you're doing is in direct contradiction to the Emperor's will! Cease and repent, I implore you!"

"Your words fall on deaf ears, traitor!" A chaplain roared, rising above the rubble to rally the beleaguered Imperial forces together. The Primarch was too much for them to handle, and so drastic measures were called on to balance the scale. "If we cannot bring you before the Emperor alive, we shall bring you before him in pieces!" He took pause to signal the Emperor-class Titan guarding the entrance to the Outer Palace, "Lock on to this beacon and fire, full power!"

* * *

The sanctum was in ruins.

Bullet-holes and scorch marks were all over the place, born from the weapons discharge of both loyalist forces. The High Lords of Terra, the many who proved too slow or too stupid to run for cover, lay dead where they once stood. The Master of the Adeptus Administratum

The Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum, the Fabricator-General of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar, Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum, Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Even the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adepta Sororitas and the Chancellor of the Estate Imperium were not saved from the chaos of the infighting.

The Grandmaster of the Officio Assassinorum, though wounded heavily from his battle with the Captain-General, remained alive.

As was his rival.

The thunder of the Titan's guns outside the Imperial palace could be heard even within the bowels of the Sanctum Imperialis, its shockwaves felt like a dozen tectonic plates crashing against one another all at once. The Grandmaster raised his boltpistol at the Captain-General and clenched down hard on the gaping wound in his shoulder.

Trajann Valoris' helm was smashed open by the power-maul of one of the Grandmaster's battle-servitors, revealing a bloodied but steadfast visage glaring back at the Grandmaster.

"Gaze upon the chaos wrought by your disobedience, Grandmaster." The Captain-General snarled, hefting his waraxe upon shaky and battered arms. He referred to the bodies of the dead and dying officials littered all across the bloodied floor.

"I had thought that you, who knew the Emperor best, would know the error of your judgement." The Grandmaster retorted spitefully, "But I see clearly that even the best of us can fall, Horus is proof of that- as are you. Yet there remains redemption still. Even in the damage wrought upon this council over a misunderstanding and zealous backlash, what was lost can be regained."

"A moment before, you were so eager to raise arms. Now that you've realized you're outmatched you stoop to words?" Trajann frowned, "I am beyond reasoning now, Grandmaster."

"Do you not hear yourself now? You commit treason without even knowing it." The sidearm clicks empty, and the Grandmaster tossed the useless piece away. He didn't even move to defend himself when the zealous warrior threw himself forward and struck him his deathblow. The axe tore through the Grandmaster's armor and opened a wide gash across his middle, spilling thick red ichor all over the floor to join the pools collecting under the dead who littered the room.

"Emperor have mercy on your soul." The Grandmaster wheezed, closing his eyes for the last time and readying himself for oblivion.

Unbeknownst to Trajann, the work of the Great Deceiver had been done. A simple twist in the Emperor's psychic message had wrought the resulting carnage, thrusting the capital into the second war for Terra. Horus' plans for a successful peaceful confrontation were rendered null, his chances for true redemption dashed to pieces. Tzeentch smiled at the conclusion of the battle of the Sanctum Imperialis, reveling in the acts of betrayal ironically done in the Emperor's name. Much like the betrayal wrought by Horus all those centuries before, Trajann Valoris had fallen to the influence of Chaos.

The best part was that he didn't even know it was happening.

* * *

Horus shook his head slowly as the deep ringing in his skull died down. The smoke cleared as did his hearing, then the Primarch rose to take in the results of the meaningless massacre. He gazed out in horror at the masses of torn flesh, sundered power-armor, and charred bodies splayed out all over the battlefield in a wide circle about him. The Titan had done its work, though managing to decimate the entire first line of defenders stationed at the gates of the Outer Palace.

"You fools!" Horus cried vehemently, "What have you done?!"

At this, the defenders that yet lived stopped to stare in confusion as the Arch-Traitor began to rant despairingly at the losses of his own foes. Many wondered what would prompt him to do this, many dared to question if they were right in attacking him in the first place. Then the Adeptus Custodes, now rallied and regrouped under the banner of the Captain-General Trajann Valoris, marched steadily out of the ruined Outer Gate to replace the heavy losses inflicted by the Titan strike and surrounded the bewildered Primarch upon his knees before them.

"Don't listen to him!" An officer yelled, mustering his beleagured forces around him. "His cries are of a beast caught in the thicket! Ready arms and prepare to fire!"

Horus, still unwilling to take the lives of the loyalists defending Terra, rose up and wrenched his helm free that all may see his face. "Look at me, sons and daughters of mankind! Do you not see the very face of the Emperor in my features?! Look upon me and judge me, am I of Chaos?! You have been blinded by hate and ignorance for too long! Hope burns bright before you! Do not snuff it out, I beg of you!"

In the background, Tzeentch watched this ironic twist with wicked glee. Many a hero had sacrificed much in hopes of bringing the Imperium a brighter future, only to be betrayed by the very people they sought to save. Horus, powerful though he be, is just another one of those ill-fated heroes.

Upon his Throne, the Emperor watches this exchange with a heavy but burning heart. Untold millennia of sadness, anger, and despair roiled up like the ocean stirred by a great storm. For too long had he sat immobile upon that glorified armchair, unable to grasp fully the true potential of his waning power as his near-broken spirit mended itself.

He had reached breaking-point once when Horus was corrupted by the Chaos gods and unleashed the horrors of the Heresy upon mankind. He wanted to die, and nearly had when he dueled his own son aboard the _Vengeful Spirit._ Then, that lone soldier who died in his name reminded him of what he was fighting for.

Seeing Horus now, alive and on Terra, reminded him again of his purpose.

The throneroom's gilded walls shook as an unseen force pulsated from a long-forgotten source. The floor and ceiling cracked as abyssal fissures formed from the sundering Empyrean. The Emperor, for the first time in a millennia, tore his consciousness free from the Warp without the direct aid of his daily sacrifice of a thousand psykers. The effort required a great deal from him, and the results nearly broke realspace as he flung himself out of the gaping maw of the immaterium that spawned out of his gashed and failing mortal body.

Free for a time in this astral form, the Emperor looked back at the corpse grimly as the rift spilled all manner of daemons into realspace. It was another price he had to pay to put a stop to this madness, one he was willing to, and he knew he had to make it count.

The Adeptus Custodes who remained in the Sanctum Imperialis gazed up in awe and fear at their liege as he moved out of the throneroom. These he warned of the open rift he had left behind and then instructed to contain while he saw to the mess outside in person. _**"There is no time to stand on ceremony, move quickly and watch the breach. I have sons to welcome home."**_ The Emperor bade them a curt farewell and faded through the walls of the shattered temple, passing by frightened servants and faithful monks. Those who were not attuned to the Warp as well as they should have were blinded by the brilliance of their lord, but even so rejoiced as their last vision was of the Emperor coming back to lead the wayward Imperium.

"He has come!" The blinded men and women cried, eyes glassed and bleeding from burnt retinas. "The Emperor has returned! Oh joy, a marvelous day to be alive!"

Word quickly spread ahead of the Emperor, reaching the astonished ears of the defenders as they moved to slay the Primarch Horus Lupercal.

"The Emperor is here!"

All eyes turned to the brilliant figure who entered the shattered fields of the Outer Palace, _**"CEASE THIS MADNESS! I COMMAND IT!"**_ His voice was as gentle as a running stream, yet at the same time commanding as the thunder of a distant storm. At his word, the masses threw down their weapons and prostrated themselves upon the ground. By now, of course, the Emperor would've gotten used to the state of divinity that the Imperium has placed him in. But this would mark as the first time he had, indirectly or otherwise, claimed his godhood. _**"I have given my word for Horus's safe passage that I may communicate properly with him. Your ignorance truly knows no bounds! Now, you've forced my hand."**_

Trajann Valoris, axe still bloody from the slain Grandmaster, looked down in shame as the Emperor cast his stern gaze upon him. He knew his error, no words could express his regret for having failed his master when he needed him most. _**"You disappoint me, Captain-General. You all have."**_

Valoris closed his eyes and nodded, "Emperor, forgive me. Forgive us all." Thinking quickly, Valoris patched himself to the fleets still bombarding the remaining Terran Crusade voidships above. "Priority Alpha, cease all fire. The Emperor has spoken."

"Father." Horus approached the Emperor of Mankind and knelt before his astral form, "I have returned to Terra as you've instructed."

The astral form laid its hand upon the Lupercal's shoulder, _**"You have done well, in spite of the odds, my son. I am proud and glad to have you here."**_ He turned and smiled at Celestine, who was practically bursting with happiness. The Saint shone as bright as the sun, nearly as blinding as the Emperor himself. _**"And you as well, my daughter. Welcome to the capital."**_

With that said, the Emperor turned to the penitent defenders gathered around. He had much to say, most of which were to berate and punish the disobedient, but he had little patience for such things and he was of a different tune this time. _**"You bear your shame well, as deserved. I know your hearts. You desire death for your crimes against me and my family. But I do not ask for your deaths, I ask for your lives."**_ The Emperor pointed at the Imperial Palace, _**"To end this madness, I answered with madness. A great rift opens even now beneath my Throne, spilling daemons into Terra! If you desire redemption for your sins, venture and contain the daemonic incursion! This, I command!"**_

"It will be done, milord!" Trajann answered, turning to the Custodes under his command. "You heard the Emperor, to the palace! Quickly!"

 _ **"Not you."**_ The Emperor forbade Horus, seeing the Primarch begin to follow the Custodes into the fray. _**"Have you already forgotten what you're here for, my son?"**_

"Ah yes, the task." Horus nodded.

 _ **"Walk with me. We have much to discuss."**_

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	25. Reformation and Renewal

**I'm back! Sorry for the lack of activity, life's been busy as of late but I've managed to squeeze in a little time to keep this fic going.**

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The dawn shone brightly through the artificial skies of Holy Terra, a shroud that had kept most of the capital world's beauty intact while at the same time masking the foul and broken truth behind it. Such is the way of things in this bleak future. What little remains of hope for brighter days comes rare, even more so for those who clung to it, for just as easily it slipped away from even the firmest of grasps.

Today, however, a hope fulfills itself. Though the many acts of the foolhardy and ignorant stained its revelation, a god had managed to make use of it. The Emperor of Mankind seized this moment, freed for a time from that corpse-prison that he may impart his desperate plan to his successors. With his purpose renewed, his passion reignited, the icon of humanity wasted no time summoning his sons before him in the secluded corners further into the Imperial Palace where the daemonic incursions had not reached. The Golden Throne and its surrounding districts had been walled off, contained and heavily guarded by the stalwart Custodes- who had abandoned all thoughts to working for the Favored Son's demise per the Emperor's orders and now focused on redeeming themselves in the crucible of glorious battle.

The Emperor's willingness to forgive was enough for them, there was no need for ritualistic suicide. They were all too happy to have him back, even if it was for a short time, and grateful to live to see that all the waiting proved to be worth it all.

Primarch Roboute Guilliman, having successfully breached the blockade in the recent battle, arrived on Terra with the surviving Ultramarines and their successor chapters with due haste upon hearing what had transpired in the last 24 hours. He could not hide the amazement he felt for the fate of his brother, who had not only managed to make first drop on Terra amidst the thunder of the Imperium's finest defense weaponry but had also in a single act turn what could have been a devastating civil war into a renewal of vigor for mankind. News traveled fast across the Imperium of what had transpired, the people cheered in great jubilation at the confirmed arrival of the three Sons. Upon seeing the error of their ways and unable to bear the great shame they felt soon after, many officers and commanders who had initially fought against Horus, one after the other, turned their weapons upon themselves in an effort to absolve their sins through death. These actions, deemed foolish beyond comprehension, was swiftly handled by the infuriated Lord of Ultramar.

He called them out for the idiots they were and forbade anyone from dismantling the infrastructure of the already weakened chain of command any further.

Primarch Corvus Corax, though remaining tight-lipped on the events of the day, felt a strange feeling of serenity after hearing of his brother's success. His days of penance were over, the time to lead the wayward Imperium was nigh. The Raven Lord entered the room from which the triumvirate and the Emperor himself would meet away from prying eyes and treacherous ears. Here, he had to squint as the luminance of his father shone like a newborn star. Guilliman was present, as was the Redeemed Son Horus Lupercal. Bowing his head in reverence, Corvus addressed the Emperor. "You called for us, father."

 _ **"I have."**_ The astral form turned its fiery gaze upon the alabaster-skinned Primarch, _**"But we are missing one."**_

The doors which he had gone through opened, and in came the Saint Celestine of the Our Martyred Lady Order. Such a display of trust was unprecedented, for the Emperor had a very close circle in his lifetime. Something had changed in him, Corvus realized.

"My lords." Celestine greeted meekly, bending the knee before her lord and god where the Primarchs remained on their feet.

Corvus frowned, "What is she doing here?"

 _ **"She is my daughter, as you are my sons."**_ The Emperor replied, somehow laying a sting upon the Primarch's ego as he gave voice to his disapproval of Corvus' crusade of penance and dereliction of duty in the past- even though he had said little of the matter. _**"There is much work to be done. Much suffering and loss had befallen us and mankind, too much time had been wasted with pointless infighting. Though I consider it a regrettable waste, the High Lords of Terra have been decimated without any hope of reparation...but it proves useful in the most unlikely of ways."**_

"How can it be?" Horus asked.

 _ **"It leaves room for a better form of government."**_ The Emperor addressed all four of them, _**"At the moment, all of humanity awaits with baited breath on what comes next. The Imperium is in shambles, but is not far from correction. You will be my ruling hands while I yet remain in the Warp. You shall serve as the High Lords of Terra, but will not remain upon this glorified rock- you will bring correction to all the worlds out there. Muster all the armies beneath your banners, utilize all tools at your disposal, do all in your power to reunite this shadow of our once-great empire into what the Imperium was always meant to be."**_

The Emperor spoke first to Guilliman, _**"Guilliman, my son. I name you Lord Commander, and I task you with bringing those bickering lords and generals to heel. Whip the Astra Militarum, and the Departmento Munitorum, back into shape. The Guard must be reminded where their strengths lie and set to purpose. Our supply lines must also be straightened out. Once you have finished, you will then journey to the segmentums plagued by the besotted Orks and save the worlds that lie within their grasps. Go."**_

"With all due haste." The Primarch bowed once and exited the room, content with the brief exchange and carrying out his father's orders. The task set before him lay within his expertise as statesman and ruler, a mission given to him purposely by the Emperor knowing it would suit him best. His wisdom had not waned over the years, apparently. The only thing he found distasteful of the task was that he was going to be set against the greenskins. Of all the creatures in the galaxy, he hated the Orks second only to the daemons of the Warp.

 _ **"Corvus."**_ The Emperor turned to the Raven Lord, _**"You, I name Lord Vanquisher. Many worlds remain disjointed from the Imperium, I want you to reclaim it from the xenos who dared take advantage of their vulnerability. Be it through salvation or bolter-fire, I leave to your discretion. The Tau seek to the expand their territories, show them the error of their ways."**_

"They shall regret incurring our wrath." Corvus bowed.

 _ **"One more thing. The tasks I will set forth to your brother Horus and Celestine will leave Segmentum Solar open to discord. Remind yourself that of all the Primarchs, you will be the first line of defense should our enemies seize the moment to strike."**_

"It will be done, father. I bid you farewell, all." The Raven Lord, as was his nature, disappeared from the halls of the Imperial Palace soon after, taking with him the Raven Guard and their successor chapters towards the Damocles Gulf.

 _ **"Celestine."**_

The Saint remained on her knees, gaze averted, as she lent ear to the words of her god. "I am your servant."

There was hesitance in the Emperor's words as he spoke them. Uncertainty was extremely rare for the master of mankind, what would prompt such behavior? _**"The Ecclesiarchy is not without its own flaws..."**_

Horus knew what was coming next, and he spoke up. "Father." He had given it much thought all throughout his life, today he would make it known. The Emperor would remain steadfast in his denial of his own divinity. That state of mind indirectly seeded thoughts of dissent within Lorgar- first of the traitors- and sent them down this path of destruction, and it may have worked for the maiden years of the Great Crusade but not in this point in time. This was the Forty First Millenium, and in the grim darkness of this future there is only war. "I know you mean well by denying your godhood, as you have done so many times before. The ideals of the Imperial Truth, as so many of us in those glorious days had believed in, were admirable- but they are useless and self-destructive as your perspective on the matter."

 _ **"An old argument, one that I had discussed at great length with your brother Lorgar."**_

"Hear me, father of us all, before you judge me false." Horus pleaded, "I have watched all this time and marveled at how mankind persevered beyond its capacity to withstand the harrowing state of things, and do you know what it is that kept them going? It is faith. The Imperial Truth was constituted because you believed faith and religion were the things that divided mankind, and it worked at the time when the only gods we knew were ourselves and Time itself. But we know now that there are gods in this universe, hungry and malevolent. All evidence points to the contrary of what you claim, you are a god! At such a time as this, denying it further will only serve to drive the hopeless into despair- leading them into the path of ruin, for where else would they turn?"

 _ **"So you suggest I destroy the one standard I've upheld all these years, out of desperation?"**_

Horus shrugged, "Everything changes with time, and only the foolish would hold to the past. I ask you to do this because it is the only way. Would you rather the masses pray to you, strengthening your power through the Warp with their faith? Or to let them fling themselves to Chaos out of desperation? Is it not our purpose to destroy chaos as harbingers of order? What better tool to use against the Immaterium than the Immaterium itself? I ask that you allow the Ecclesiarchy to remain, but shape it into something better than it ever was before. For many of us, faith is the only thing we have left. Do not deny them this, not this time."

In the Emperor's mind, he could see and hear the same argument over and over, with the voice of Lorgar Aurelian mirroring Horus'. But there was wisdom in his son's words. Horus offered this solution not because he was blinded by the faith as Lorgar was. Quite the contrary, the Lupercal saw it all. He was right, it was the only way to keep mankind together. Faith used to keep humanity divided, but under a singular faith could it remain united. How he had not seen this before, the Emperor could not and would not know for certain, but he was grateful to have his eyes opened. He had a millennia to consider this same matter alone, absent the wise counsel of his dear friend the Sigillite. Horus' words were all he needed to be convinced, _**"Very well. But if I am to do this, I do this for humanity's sake, and not for my own."**_

"Do we not do all for mankind?" Horus declared, "Our very souls, consecrated and dedicated fully in its service? Think of it as a promotion, father, one that you already had yet never claimed."

 _ **"I missed your humor, Horus."**_ The Emperor smiled as he placed his hand upon his son's shoulder, _**"And they wonder why I favored you above them all. But enough pleasantries, let us return to the task at hand. Celestine, I shall give you a task that would prove daunting , but shall not remain impossible as it seems."**_

"What would you have me do?"

 _ **"Address the Ecclesiarchy, as I dictate."**_

"What shall I tell them?"

 _ **"With the Ecclesiarch dead and half of the Cardinals of the Synod fighting amongst themselves in a blind lust for power, the faithful are in dire need for instruction. Purge the vile leaders who exploit the pure and the innocent. Destroy the Tenets of Penance."**_

"My Lord?" Celestine asked, unwilling to believe what she just heard. "The Tenets of Penance are necessary for my sisters, how can they redeem themselves when they have sinned against you?"

 _ **"They are an abhorrence in my eyes. With lash and thorn, they do not serve me through pain- they serve the Dark Prince of Chaos through the excesses of pain!"**_ The Emperor frowned deeply, his words striking true to the heart of the Saint. _**"There is more than one way for redemption, look to my son should you seek for a better example. You have my orders, go now."**_

As the Saint left the room, the Emperor regarded his son for a moment before revealing his plan for the Redeemed Primarch. _**"A Primarch is no good without a legion."**_

Horus looked up in surprise, "Father?"

 _ **"You must journey to Mars, my son. Within the labyrinths, beneath the sands, lies the secrets to gene-forging. I cannot relay them to you personally, you must find it yourself. I give you the task to reform the XVIth Legion, The Luna Wolves. Though I suspect I am not making a false assumption you wish to change its name should you finish recreating it."**_

"I...I am not worthy of a legion."

 _ **"I decide who is worthy and who isn't, my son."**_ The Emperor chided gently, _**"Never forget that."**_

Horus sighed, reluctantly accepting his father's verdict. "Is there anything else you would have me do, my lord?"

 _ **"Ah yes, there is something I wish to discuss. It is a matter of great import, a personal one at that."**_ The Emperor turned his gaze to the observatory, watching as the flashes of gunfire erupted in the courtyard below as the Custodes spilled out into the wide clearing to lure the daemons out of the temple. _**"During my visits to the Realms of Chaos, I encountered what little remained of the Eldar pantheon. Isha, the Goddess of Life and Fertility."**_

"Other gods exist?" Horus mused, "A damned maddening universe we live in."

 _ **"Your spear holds the essence of one, I'll have you know. I watched her suffer under the cruel hand of Nurgle."**_

"You wish to save her from that fate, though it remains rather clear it was born from the Eldar's own hand?"

 _ **"Your skepticism is unsurprising. I have thoughts to a rare opportunity that has presented itself."**_

Horus frowned, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

 _ **"Isha holds power over life and death. If she is to be saved from her fate, her gratitude will go a long way. I want you to bring her to me, let her hands touch my bleached bones upon the Golden Throne that she may bring me back from the Warp. With her at my side, she will prove to be an invaluable ally."**_

"You would allow a xenos deity into the Imperium?" Horus asked incredulously. Such a thing was unthinkable, and certainly beyond acceptance. "I know the benefits of such a bold plan, but it comes with a terrible price. The hatred of the Imperium against the xenos is incredible, she will not be welcomed as easily as you would." He could foresee great doom for the Imperium should his fears come to pass. A great war, more devastating than those he fought, would shatter mankind into splinters- heralding a swift end to their thousand year old species forever.

 _ **"Need I remind you how many species of 'xenos' have been assimilated into the human race? If the Eldar are willing to shed their name to take our own, the Imperium will get over this act quickly. Give it a hundred years, they will forget their hatred and focus their ire on more deserving enemies. And as for the Eldar, I know quite well that they see us as their salvation- their only salvation. They may cling to the fading memory of their once-great empire, but not forever. Should they resist, we shall scatter them to the winds like so many others."**_

"It will require considerable resource and effort for such a task to be done."

 _ **"And that is why you will need a legion to back you. Go now, Horus, and do what I ask."**_

Horus nodded once and donned his helm, taking his spear with him as he moved to carry out his father's mission. "Oh, and father? What must be done about the _Lectitio Divininatus_?"

 _ **"If there was one benefit Lorgar had bestowed for this time, I'd say that damnable book counts as one. Perhaps a thorough revision of the tome would be in order?"**_

"I shall make certain of that as well then, with all due discretion."

 **}!{**

 **Okay, time for a little A/N.**

 **I couldn't help but notice one of the biggest complaint-magnet in this fic is my writing style. If there are typos or tense-mistakes, I apologize. But please bear in mind that my writing style is purposely done, "stylized writing" as it is called ( it exists, look it up ).**

 **Another thing, some canon-twists were done on purpose as well to better fit this fic, it was the only way to get it up without falling apart. If I made it any more canon, Horus wouldn't be a benevolent figure ( Angron would be { that gives me an idea for a future fic } ). Also, on the issues with Big E, the Emperor had a lot of time to reevaluate his mistakes over the course of history. Just imagine the amount of things he regrets doing, such as teleporting a certain nailhead Primarch out of Nuceria and leaving his friends to die.**

 **Of course, he's going to reconsider many things, including the solution Horus presented to him. But I won't prattle on about defending myself and this fic, I'll let the story do that for me. If you don't like it, there's plenty of stories out there to suit your tastes. No hard feelings, but I won't change the course of the Lupercalian Redemption- I have a plan and I'm sticking to it.**

 **For those who're still with me, thank you for your continued support and good day :)**


	26. The Bannerless Brethren

**}!{**

Celestine awaited her friend's departure from the sanctum with great impatience, rising up the steps to meet up with the Lupercal as he exited the massive gilded doors. "What task has the Emperor given you, Lord Horus?" Her expression grew from curiosity to concern as she took in the grim aura past the expressionless visage of his helm. "What troubles you?"

"My father wishes me to rebuild my legion." Horus replied, "I must make the journey towards Mars and scour its lost archives for the genetor-blueprints in order to perfect the schematic necessary for such an endeavor. He would not have the Luna Wolves be just any army, he would have me create the next generation of astartes- more powerful and stable than ever before. To be honest, I'm at a loss of where to start."

"How so?" Celestine asked, "Is the task too much?"

"No, but I'll admit it is beyond what I'm accustomed to." Horus said with a shrug, "I can't remember the last time I played fetch-the-stick, but if father deemed me capable of handling it I'm sure it will work itself out."

 _Fetch-the-stick?_ Celestine frowned, unfamiliar with the Primarch's strange idiom. "Er...I'm sure it will."

"We shall leave immediately, word will have preceded us and reached the Red Planet by now." The Primarch's footfalls thundered upon the marble floor as he neared the edge of the steps. "No doubt the Adeptus Mechanicus hates me with equal flame as our enemies, but at least this time their resistance will be dissuaded advance of our arrival."

"Our arrival?" Celestine smiled, "My Lord, have you forgotten that I am tasked with the burden of leading the Ecclesiarchy out of its petty squabbling and back on the proper path? I'm afraid our journeys together end here."

Horus gazed down at the angel, a strange sadness seeping into the cracks of his mind as he slowly digested these words. "Oh. My apologies. I have enjoyed your company as well as valued your counsel throughout the long odyssey from Cadia to Terra, so much so that I feel reluctant to part now." The Saint regarded the Primarch with a curious look, unsure what to feel about his words. "I have very few friends in my past life, even lesser in this new one- yet I am proud to have you among them."

Celestine's bright gold eyes gazed down at the Primarch's outstretched hand, to which she took up in a firm grasp of her own. "I am honored to have known you, Horus Lupercal. God-Emperor willing, we shall meet again when the dawn has casted its rays upon a reunified Imperium."

"Farewell, Celestine." Horus nodded, turning heel to descend the steps leading to the Thunderhawk transporter that would take him offworld. The Saint remained upon the pedestal, watching with longing eyes as the craft ascended into the skies, disappearing behind heavy clouds of darkest gray.

"Farewell, Horus."

The Primarch, having concluded what was needed to be done upon Terra, turned his attentions towards the task at hand and met up with the new allies that pledged to serve him and his cause.

The reception that followed soon after was startling to say the least. Horus had expected a tad smaller number of loyalist warriors, support-units and crewmen to volunteer for his taskforce. Truly, the hatred for him had receded significantly following the events that transpired upon Terra's surface. This news came as a great comfort to the Primarch, and he reveled in the feeling of camaraderie present in the hangar from which he came to meet.

Captain- or more formally recognized as Admiral Maranda Goodwill at present, stood at the front to welcome her liege aboard the battlecruiser _Divine Fury._ The former commander of the vessel had initially sided with the loyalist fleets hellbent on preventing Horus' arrival on Terra per the orders of the late Lords of Terra, and upon realizing the grave error on his part- took his life in an effort to absolve his sin for betraying the Emperor. Left leaderless, the crew turned in desperation for a replacement and soon found one in the capable hands of Admiral Goodwill- who earned her promotion on the same day the Emperor had spoken to his Sons and relayed his grand plan.

"Things are looking up, my liege." The woman said proudly, receiving Horus warmly as he boarded the _Divine Fury._ The ship was twice the size of the _Golgo's Respite,_ with three times the manpower and destructive capabilities. Nothing could replace her former ship, but at the very least this new one could get the job done. "I knew my faith in you would pay off eventually. The Emperor ordained it so, praise be to Him."

"Yes, but now we are set with another task to perform." Horus replied, turning to address the new faces present at the assembly. "Ah, the volunteers."

Horus' eyes fell upon the one among the many, a single astartes warrior with a battered and heavily scratched armor that pre-dated even the earliest iteration of power-armor. Many ancients resurfaced after the Primarchs have been reported to return, but this one caught the Lupercal's attention the most due to one notable reason.

The wolf with the moon standing at its back, a faded and barely existent symbol etched on his pauldrons.

There was no doubt about it, this one was a Luna Wolf!

The astartes donned a cloak of matted silver, presumably taken from a direwolf on some distant world. Few ornaments and trophies were displayed at his belt and sash, but proudly did he display them. Whereas the others carried bolters and chainswords, the Luna Wolf wielded an ornate makhaira with a blade of red and black.

"Who are you?"

The astartes stepped forth and knelt before his gene-sire, his grizzled and ancient voice rattling against a poorly maintained vox-grill. "I am called Galio. For a thousand years, I have roamed the cosmos without purpose until I have heard of your actions upon the Cadian Gate. I followed your trail until I came back to Terra itself. Words cannot express the joy I've felt upon hearing your return, and that you were all the while innocent of the sins of the Civil War."

"Your faith in me warms my heart, son of Cthonia. Are there more of you?"

Galio shook his head, "The Warp claimed many of my brothers during the trek here, I am the only one left."

"Galio came with a motley band of spacemarines hailing from different chapters." Maranda explained, "As reported, there were sixteen Luna Wolves under his command before they were swallowed up by a Warp storm, only he remains. These men; Cataphracts, Steel Tigers and Crimson Lords; they were screened and tried by our best psykers. They are clean, and willing to pledge themselves to your cause."

"You honor me with your decision, Brother Galio." Horus bid the man rise.

"The Emperor has ordained you forgiven, and so we do his bidding." The Luna Wolf replied, "How can we serve?"

"I am to journey for Mars, your aid will be most beneficial as I work to restore the Luna Wolves Legion."

"The Emperor wishes to restore our Legion?" The ancient was visibly moved, "The days grow brighter! My wait was not for naught!"

Hope was evident in the voices of the other spacemarines, "Will the Emperor do this for us as well? Will the Legions be restored?"

"There is no doubt he will, there is no wisdom behind doing otherwise." Horus turned to address the astartes, "This promise I make unto you. For too long, the mounting problems besetting the Imperium had exceeded its capacity to solve. Too long have we abandoned hope of fixing it, deciding instead to outlive it. Those days are over. Henceforth, such problems shall be addressed, starting with the return of the Legio Astartes. Let us make for the Red Planet, and bring back mankind upon proper path."

* * *

The Imperial Aquila had two heads. One for Terra, the birthplace of mankind and the seat of the Imperium's power. And the other for Mars, the cradle from which the Adeptus Mechanicus had spawned from since the days of the Age of Strife.

Upon hearing the preceding order given from the Emperor's own lips about his son's impending arrival, the leaders of the Red Planet gathered together to formally greet the returned Primarch. All were a mere formality, masking a bitter and resentful face beneath the veil, as all things in the heart of the Imperium are.

Horus cared little for what they thought of him at this point, just enough to be wary should a traitor's thoughts turn to ripe opportunity at a moment's notice. Sparing the pleasantries, the Primarch commanded the leaders of Mars under the authority bestowed upon him by the Omnissiah to allow him entrance to the most sacred and heavily guarded vaults of the Forbidden Zone. It goes without saying that such an order was met with great reluctance, but adhered to nonetheless. Fearing another assault upon their revered world, the Adeptus Mechanicus did as commanded and guided the Primarch and his men to the gates of hell.

Librarius Omnis, a vast subterranean, continent-spanning repository of knowledge located in the labyrinthine catacombs of Mars. Over the millennia, it has been the subject of several Techno-archaeologist expeditions. It was here, at the dawn of the Imperium, that the legendary Techno-Archaeologist Arkhan Land led an expedition with the intention of finding an intact, complete and still-functioning STC database. Though he was unsuccessful in this endeavor, he did make two other discoveries which revolutionized Imperial technical thinking for millennia to come - a near complete dataslab image of STC information on what would come to be known as a Land Raider, and information on rare anti-gravitic plates, and theories on their uses, which eventually led to the construction of the first "Land Speeder."

Various automata and skitarii legionnaires were deployed to assist the Primarch's expeditionary forces in their quest for acquiring the secrets foretold by the Emperor, per the orders of the returned Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. The most his peers could and would do was wish the Primarch a successful mission and sent him on a speedy departure from the surface, as was expected of the craven fools. In spite of this, Horus kept his mind trained on the task at hand and marched on with his men.

Navigating the treacherous halls of the ancient vault was a daunting task, but one that must be done in order for them to reach their goal. Curiosity will be their only guide, for the winding paths of the Librarius Omnis had never been mapped though it had been visited many times by the Adeptus Mechanicus' past expeditionary forces. The darkness here was prevalent, offset only by the faint glow of barely awakened machines and blinking consoles of damaged archives. Ancient bones of dead adventurers, scribes and war machines littered the ground ahead- perhaps a foretelling of their fate should they proceed further in?

"Eyes out, be wary." Horus instructed, "We are not alone here."

"What are the odds of us ending up face to face with one of the horrors of the Abomination Intelligence?" Galio inquired.

"They grow higher as we venture further in, that much I'm certain of." Graves, the task force's marksman and one of the seven ancients who pledged himself to Horus' cause, rescanned the corridor as he gave his answer. The astartes hailed from a far off successor chapter long expired to the winds of time, a son of Rogal Dorn. He lived during the maiden years of the Second Founding, shedding off his gilded banners at the reluctant behest of his gene-sire. But when his chapter found itself caught within the crossfire of two opposing astartes chapters in a civil war, then were devoured by the maw of the Tyranids, only the marksman escaped to tell the tale. Graves' Thunderhawk had been thrusted into the Warp for two hundred years, emerging into realspace only to face the Tyranids again, alone in a wasteland of devoured worlds.

Here, the son of Dorn learned to survive amongst predators, in a nature not unlike the jungle fighters of Catachan. The gilded armor now lay bare, stripped of its golden colors to bone-white. His right pauldron had been removed, baring his arm to the elements. To replace the valued piece of hardware, Graves donned the skull of a slain Hive Lord he had the displeasure of encountering on one of the blighted worlds. His sturdy longrifle weathered the times as much as he did, ever ready to deliver a swift death to the Emperor's foes.

His keen eyes would be a valuable asset to the team, and he would act as the first warning they would ever need for any encounter.

"If they come, we are more than prepared." Thavos, a hulking brute of a warrior, hailing from the lesser known Mastodon chapter. This was likely due to the fact that their chapter's name was often mistaken in reference to the pre-Heresy Mastodon warmachine commonly deployed at Salamander campaigns. Thavos had long abandoned his chapter after repeated losses due in no small part to an incompetent commander, selling his skills to the highest bidders as a mercenary- often hired by prominent Planetary Governors upon hearing his successes in the Badab Campaigns.

Armed with an Avenger Mega Bolter he had ripped off the wings of a fallen Nephilim fighter-jet in a past battle, Thavos had fashioned a deadly amalgamation that was fearsome in design and potent in its implication. The weapon had sent many a screaming soul into the Warp only after its bolts had rendered their flesh into a fine red mist.

Apothecary Ygor of the Ultramarines 2nd Company, under orders borne from the lips of Guilliman himself to assist Horus in all his endeavors, uttered a grizzled snarl at the proud Mastodon. "Careful now, pride precipitates a dizzying fall."

"True, but confidence can be used as a weapon." Otho Galatian spoke up, "Provided that it does not falter in the face of adversity." Otho Galatian, the youngest of the seven ancients, was considered the least experienced spacemarine of the lot. This, however, was never proven as a fact. Otho had shown time and time again of his affinity as an Outrider marine, specializing in mechanized reconnaissance and fast strikes. His skills will undoubtedly prove useful in this expedition. He stood out from his peers due to his cheery disposition, a nature foreign in this line of work.

The man was seconded by his brother-in-arms Mordekai, a Breacher marine and a fellow Doomslayer- another ill-fated chapter wiped clean off the face of the universe. Mordekai regarded his brother in silence and turned to tend to his combat shield, the one piece of hardware that stood between him and certain death. It had saved him from the unnatural energies of the Warp when it swallowed both the corrupted world beneath his feet and his brothers as the cultists offered up the populace to Khorne. The ordeal had scarred him both in body and mind, and the last of his word went with the death of the Doomslayers. From then on the astartes became a silent harbinger of death, going forth from world to world hunting down every last one of the Khornate cultists who had wronged him. He was only recruited into the ancients due to an alignment of interests, as Galio had made it a priority to secure the sector he was in which so happened to be plagued with many heretical cults.

He and another ancient had been held under much scrutiny by the authorities when they arrived on Terra, and with good reason. Alduin, Master of the Signal, was just as old as Galio and bore a similarly dark origin- for Alduin hailed from the Emperor's Children Legion and was present during the dark days of the Istvaan Drop-site Massacre.

Though it was not uncommon for a traitor to realize his mistakes and seek absolution, Alduin refused to shed his colors and take up the mantle of Templar. Instead, he chose to exile himself and went on a long walk of penance not unlike that of which Horus had walked following his resurrection on Hel'Nkuza.

"I'm picking up a lot of vox-chatter, the channels vary." Alduin reported, "Lord Horus, I sense they are getting close. I recommend caution, the rogue machine-spirits will undoubtedly sense our presence."

"We tread upon their halls, they've known since we first set foot on the Librarius." Horus replied, "We shall not slow our pace, just be ready for an assault."

It did not take long for such an assault to occur, however. "My Lord, there!" Graves announced, rising up from the top of the Land Raider as his scanners caught sight of an approaching horde of mechanized shamblers, beasts born from the darkest pits conceivable through the Age of Strife. "Multiple hostiles detected."

"That means shoot, you idiots." Thavos grunted at the Skitarii, the rest of his sentence ground out by the whir of his gargantuan weapon. "For the Emperor!"

The shamblers uttered a unified scream, causing the whole complex to shake violently at the resonating roar, then made a mad dash for the expeditionary forces. Bolter-fire and molten plasma struck down the first line, serving as fodder to make way for the stronger units. Claws of twisted metal, serrated with irradiated substances that could melt the hardiest of alloys, were extended with vile intent. Teeth of filed down ceramite gnashed and chomped, promising a bloody end to their prey.

"Stand together, do not let them separate us!" Horus announced calmly, striking Soulrender upon the ground to further illuminate the dark chamber.

"These bastards waste our ammunition!" Thavos scoffed, lowering his weapon upon realizing how little of a threat the enemy posed. "Your work's cut out for you, Brother Otho. I will not use the Heavy Bolter until the big ones show themselves."

It was a haughty gesture, but not without its own wisdom. The Avenger Heavy Bolter would prove most efficient when used against bigger prey, and a regrettable waste should they use it against these besotted fools. The astartes stood back and allowed their Skitarii allies to dispatch the assailing horde, save for Otho and Mordekai who excelled in the melee.

Otho's chainsword revved up noisily as his fist closed down on the handle, the teeth chattered as it bit into amalgamated flesh and iron. The astartes swung his weapon in a wide arc, taking out four hulking shamblers in one strike. Mordekai charged a mighty blow from his powerfist, crushing the largest monstrosity that acted as the horde's leader as he barreled forth into the frey. With their commander gone, the shamblers were easy prey for the Skitarii's advanced railguns. They were lined up, then subdued with deadly efficiency.

Before the group could rejoice at the quick victory, Alduin's scanners picked up an enormous power surge in the local area. "Be on your guard! This is merely the beginning!"

"Acknowledged." Horus replied, signalling the convoy to move forward. "On to the path, we have a lot of ground to cover!"

 **}!{**


	27. Ill Omens

**Writer's block's a bitch, sorry it took two months to update this, guys. I'll try to push on in spite of it.**

 **}!{**

The sentry turrets felt the presence of the intruders as they crossed the threshold, and so they did their designated work as they've done countless times before. Their maws opened up, spitting ordnance of ancient and equally deadly make, with a singular purpose. The skitarii vanguard could not withstand the hail of fire with their kinetic shielding for too long, and soon dozens were cut down in the ensuing barrage. Rockets flew from the towers that rose up from the walls and floor, detonating at pinpoint positions that halted the advance of the expeditionary force. Their attacks upon Horus' coterie were too organized, and too well practiced. Swift and terrible, the machinations of mankind's long dead former civilization continued the unending battle of the Men of Iron.

One thing was different out of this particular circumstance, however. The machines were dealing with a Primarch, the finest of them all.

Horus would have what he required, and he would not let a few piles of aging scrap metal deter him from his quest. "Stand behind me!" The Lupercal raised his spear and cast a powerful golden barrier to protect the convoy, allowing the skitarii automata to move forward so they could reduce the number of sentry turrets barring their progression into the halls of the Librarius Omnis. The powerful guns of the spider-like tanks rent the towers to shreds of glowing hot steel and glass, the Bannerless Brethren leaped out of their transports to cut a swath that the path may be cleared. For when the towers fell, the hordes of the forbidden zone spilled forth into the narrow corridor.

"They do not attack out of mere animosity!" Otho made his suspicions known, "Primarch! They're protecting something!"

"Something of great value, a boon to the cause?" Alduin seconded.

Horus glanced about for the source, and found it. Beyond the clamoring masses, he could see a glowing pedestal amidst stacks of data packets. Like an ancient tomb of dead kings, saturated with lights of gold and green, ready for the mighty to claim it. "I see it." Soulrender struck true, tearing apart hundreds of its wielder's foes in one powerful beam of golden light. Bodies were separated from middle and groin, and some were reduced to ash. Horus marched forward as the bullets of lesser guns bounced harmlessly off his armor. He allowed his allies to deal with the rabble, eyes fixed on the prize before him.

He cocked his head to the side curiously as he neared the artifact. It was a gauntlet, aged with innumerable years, turning its once silver coat into a stony texture.

"All that blood for this?" Horus muttered, picking up the thing from its place on the pedestal.

"Be careful, my lord." Otho cautioned, "One may never know what the artifacts of that terrible Age can do these days."

Horus tapped at the pedestal and brought up the hologram that explained in perfect detail what the artifact was and what it was for. After a minute of absorbing all the knowledge therein, Horus donned the gauntlet and smiled. "I am cautious, and I am grateful."

"Why?" Thavos asked as he lumbered over, heavy bolter hoisted above his shoulders. "Is it of any use to us?"

Horus shrugged, "I guess you can say it fits that category."

"A powerful fist to bludgeon your foes to a bloody pulp, I assume?" Graves offered.

Horus chuckled, "No. It's a construction tool of the Golden Age, designed to move asteroids to form palaces among the stars. It holds the gravity-force of a young star, and it is capable of doing exactly as described." The Primarch clenched his fist, awakening the ancient tool for the first time in a millennia. "It can build palaces..."

"And it can break worlds." Galio finished for him.

Horus nodded, "Precisely."

"Well then..." Otho declared, "Perhaps our enemies' ambushes should prove less taxing in the future?"

"If they shall serve any use to us, they shall provide adequate targets for you to practice on, my lord." Galio suggested unto Horus.

"I like your thinking, Brother Galio." Horus acknowledged, turning back to the convoy. "Onward! We still have a lot of ground to cover!"

* * *

Guilliman didn't like what he heard and it showed on his otherwise passive face.

"So my father wants to give Horus his old Legion?" The Lord of Ultramar rested his chin upon his fist, "At least that part he did not keep a secret."

 _"He's already on Mars."_ The Raven Lord's eyes pierced the screen like dagger points, _"He plans on restoring not just the Luna Wolves, but every Legion there is."_

This news should have brought elation to the two Primarchs, but strangely it did the exact opposite. "Hmph, clearly there's something wrong with the both of us."

 _"You've lost me."_

"You know what I speak of, Corvus. Don't play the fool, it does not suit you." Guilliman grumbled, "Whatever thoughts you have of ill nature against our brother, say it now and bury it."

 _"It is too soon for Horus to be rewarded, too soon for even one of this rate."_ The Raven Lord spat.

"What father wants to do is his business, and his wisdom surpasses the two of us combined- never forget that." Guilliman reminded, "I know of what our brother, in that time he was possessed by our enemies, has done against you in that past life- how he transformed your sons into those abominations. You cannot help but dislike it, but leave it at that. To assume beyond it is treason at its youth, nip it at the bud lest you fall to Chaos as our less prudent siblings have."

Corvus sighed, knowing the wisdom in his brother's words. The Raven Lord held little pride, and he knew when to back down. _"Very well. On to our tasks, then?"_

"Yes." Guilliman concurred, grateful for the change of subject. "I've begun my work whipping the Imperial Guard into shape, starting with Segmentum Solar. It's been only a week, and I've hadn't stopped a single day for rest. Amazingly, none of my subordinates have either. I'll admit, the enthusiastic atmosphere has rendered me quite...overwhelmed."

 _"Has your work been successful?"_

"I'd had better progress bombarding worlds into compliance than getting things organized around here!" Guilliman snorted, "The state of things is shameful, to say the least! If I hadn't known better, this task would be just a practical joke played on my expense by the Emperor."

The corner of Corvus' lip twitched ever so slightly, but as always, he hid his amusement so masterfully that the perceptive Lord of Ultramar did not notice. _"You still have the matter concerning the Orks."_

"Yes, that too. Something to look forward to when all this sorting is done." Guilliman agreed, "One that caught my attention, though, was the unceasing war on Armageddon. You remember that ork 'Prophet' named Ghazgkhull Uruk Thraka?"

 _"They're all greenskinned xenos, nothing worth remembering to me. Is this one that special?"_

"Brother, really now?" Guilliman chided, "Underestimating the xenos is not something even you can do. I'll let that slide off as a poor excuse for a joke. Anyway, I've made it my goal to put down the ork warlord so that the greenskin alliance would fracture completely, so that the world might finally be released from its endless war. Ghazgkhull fancies himself as the chosen of his gods and has waged a long campaign against the Imperium that has lasted far longer than most, that makes him a real enough threat to me."

 _"Sounds like you've got your hands full. I'll leave you to it, then. My fleet's approaching the threshold of the Damocles gulf now. I must remain vigilant lest the Tau get the drop on me. Be cautious and fare you well, Guilliman."_

* * *

Celestine's lips fluttered ever so slightly as she whispered a prayer of protection over her friends and allies scattered across the Imperium, but there was one in particular that she prayed the hardest for. Horus was on his way to reclaiming his former title of Warmaster, leader of the Imperium's armed forces and herald to the Emperor's greatness. Things were looking steadily up for mankind, and at a pace so dangerous that it would take the slightest lapse in judgement or vigilance to dash all hope for their species.

"Holy Emperor, guide my friend's hands and lead him through the darkness. Bind the hands of the Enemy, that your sons and daughters may aid the helpless and innocent unabated."

The Ecclesiarchy Chapel-Cruiser arrived on Sephariele, a sort of gathering of convents upon a carved out asteroid sitting in the Giant's Belt orbiting the red star of Baal. Here, most of the pious Blood Angels astartes made pilgrimage to honor the sacred relics stored at the conclaves. Celestine had chosen this place of all sacred sites to begin her work for the Emperor due in no small part to the veneration all of the faithful held for Sephariele. She remembered, in her days of youth while she was yet fully human and but a child, when the sisters took her in to witness the sanctification of the weapon relics of slain battlesister martyrs. Laying her eyes upon them had awakened her desires to serve the Emperor in battle early on, and that's what drove her to enter the initiations of battlesister, later into Repentia and then a Saint.

It worked quite well on her end, much better than her peers, but Celestine did not dare see herself above any of them lest her pride cause her to fall again.

Grand Abbots, missionaries, priests and servitors, they all welcomed the Saint upon Sephariele. They prostrated themselves before her, crying out hymns of praise and adoration to the avatar of the Emperor's divinity. At this greeting, Celestine swiftly bid them rise, telling them she was a servant of the Emperor same as them and no more. Once that was done, she revealed her reasons for her visit. "Gather all those of authority, I pray. For I bring a message of correction from the Emperor."

"At once, noble Saint." They moved to obey.

* * *

It was almost ready. By almost, it should mean a few more hours of chucking the gretchins into the machine's burning maw just to test its limitations. Orkimedes barked orders for the goffboyz under his command to start herding the runts over for another go. His master was not one for patience, unlike him, and it was always a matter of time before the warlord snapped and planted a bullet into his head. So far, the old Mek hadn't failed Thraka just yet.

Orkimedes muttered to himself as the machine sparked and fizzed from the biomatter being thrusted deep into its belly, "Tellyporta tekanology is a tricky fing, but it ain't imposble." The Mek's large, meaty hands closed down on the levers and he pulled them down to send the machines on overdrive. Once the indicators glared red and the klaxons blared loud into his half-deaf ears, Orkimedes grabbed his walkie-talkie and yelled at the ork holding to the other end. "Oi! Tellyporta's on the go! Does dem runts pourin' out da other end yet?"

The receiver crackled with static for a moment, then a voice barked back. _"Noffin goin' out of 'ere Orkimedes! Are ya sure yooz got it goin' on the right way?"_

Half a system away, Statikkluvva put one hand on his hip and the other the scratch the back of his over-sized head as he stared at the unresponsive twin of the crude teleporter engine. "Cuz noffin but ashiz an' dust be pourin' on ova' 'ere!"

Aboard the _Backhunder_ rokkitship, Orkimedes growled in annoyance, "Did ya' think to flip da switch 'fore we got started?"

 _"Um..."_ A full minute passed before Statikkluvva responded, _"It is now, boss."_

Orkimede's head grew hot as his rage built up like a pot full of boiling water, sparks flew out of his crude bionic implants as his small brain searched frantically for a means to get even with the dumb git. Chancing upon an idea, Orkimedes snatched up a stikbomb and primed it. Tossing it into the active teleporter, he called up Statikkluvva on the planet's surface. "Well? Somefing got through?"

 _"Ah'em, yes boss!"_ The sound of something metal clanking noisily against the ground reached the receiver, _"Eh? Wut's dis?"_ The rest of Statikkluvva's reaction was drowned out in the roar of the resulting explosion.

The other end went silent and Orkimedes burst out with laughter, "Bwahahahahaha! Don't have ta worry 'bout dat git no more!"

"ORKIMEDES!"

"Yeah yeah, I'm almost done 'ere boss." Orkimedes waved off the baleful roar non-chalantly. He slapped on the last jagged piece of metal and sprayed yellow paint on the surface of his crude machination, "There, now yooz can telyporta a 'hole bunch of da boyz into anywhere ya please- so long az it's within a span of two systemz."

"Good enuff!" Ghazgkhull thundered, "Get started on da rest of da gunz, I want all of our Roks ta be dakkier than before! Twice da power- no- make it three! I feelz anoda message from da godz, and it feelz like a big 'un." The great ork warlord slammed a fist into his head as a massive ache clutched at his addled brain, "Gah! Oi, itz comin' sooner dan I thoughtz! FINISH UP 'ERE, I'Z GOTTA GO BACK UP TO DA CABIN!"

Ghazgkhull shoved his way into his room and thumped his forehead against the rusted metal wall in an attempt to clarify the deafening roar of Gork and Mork as the two gods made their will known from the roiling seas of the Empyrean. The voices of Gork and Mork had never been so strident, their bellowing still echoing in Ghazghkull's head. Yet, no matter how many times he readjusted his thinking parts by beating them against the bulwark of the ship, Ghazghkull could not clear his head, nor decipher what the guttural voices of the gods were saying to him. The pain of the visions was excruciating, and his good eye bulged as he roared in agony.

In such a case, however, deciphering was never the point of the visions. Rather, the Ork gods' message was quite simplistic and very much clear as any. Fortunately, the Ork Messiah had enough smarts to see through the agonizing haze and learn all that was needed from the visions.

He saw a good and proper Waagh, fought and won by the humies at the hot gates of Cadia. The spiky boy Abaddon had gathered his lot and threw everything at the fortress world, ultimately failing at the hands of none other than the bad boy of Ullanor. At this, Ghazgkhull scratched his aching head, wondering if there was something he missed.

Horus was supposed to be dead, killed when he rebelled against that big 'ol humie on the yellow throne. Or was he?

Horus was rounding up the disorganized humies together, rebuilding a proper Waagh much like what Ghazgkhull was doing. At this, the ancient warlord grinned. The challenges were mounting, and there was no better war to be fought than when legends clash. "Alrighty then!" Ghazgkhull roared, "I'm goin fer da big one this time! More 'an fifty million ork boyz at me back, getting bigger every day, will be more than enough for them humies! Ragnarork is comin' for them, and I'm bringin' da whole heap!"

"Oi!" Ghazgkhull announced to the bridge, "Set a course fer the Armageddon system! Time ta pick up our boyz on dat sorry lookin' mudball!"

"Aye boss!" The alarms blared, the boyz scrambled to get the engines up and running. One Nob pounded on a barrel full of munitions, setting the awkward tune for the popular shipmate's song.

"Fifteen Orks on a dead man's hulk,

Lookin' down the barrel of a gun,

Gruntin' to each other

through big, sharp teeth,

Sayin' "This one'll give us some fun!"

"More juice!" The captain roared, "Get this hunk 'o scrap movin', or I'll squish ya!"

"Fourteen Orks on a humie's ship,

Killin' anything that isn't green,

Gruntin' to each other

through big, sharp teeth,

Sayin' "Times be getting' lean!"

The massive spacehulk's engines blazed to life, killing the snotlings and gretchins working them on overtime and severely scalding the Meks overseeing their work. A large powerspike surged through the veins of the killing machine, driving out noisy white sparks all over the bridge.

"Thirteen Orks with the Captain's chest,

Hopin' to quench their greedy thirst,

Gruntin' to each other

through big, sharp teeth

Sayin' "I was da wun dat saw it first!"

Orkimedes hummed to himself as he scribbled a crude note on his blueprints, then boxed it all up once he was finished. One of the gretchins dropped a tankard of oil on the pile of wrinkled paper, earning himself the ire of his master and sealed his fate in an instant. The massive Mek's foot stomped the gretchin into a gooey pile of blood and squashed skin. The pounding was contagious, and soon every ship in the whole fleet sounded the song as the warp tears opened before them.

"One lone Ork left to steal the loot,

Wishin' it hadn't turned out so,

Gruntin' to itself

through big, sharp teeth

Sayin' "I shoulda let the pilot go!"

Ghazgkhull smirked evilly and crossed his arms, watching with gleeful eyes as the Warp swallowed them up and throttled them across the galaxy towards Armageddon.

 **}!{**


	28. Dark Temptations

**A/N**

 **Thanks again for your patience with me, dear readers. Time moves very quickly these days, and I never mean to drag on with the updates. Hopefully, I get over the writer's block and go steady again, but we'll see.**

 **I can't help but notice the complaints about the span of each chapter I post, and honestly it's a bother. I've set the span for 3,000 - 5,000 words because that's how far my capacity to write goes for each chapter. Any more and my mind goes blank. Sorry, but that's just the way it is. Take it or leave it.**

 **And also, I see you're back in the comments Crom'Torak. Nice to see your patience is quite long, cuz' you'll need to be. Book One is almost done, but the journey for our favorite Primarch is still long and hard. Won't reveal too much, but let's just say your role's going to be quite big in the second one. That's a promise I intend to keep.**

 **For you, Johnny, I'm sorry but I won't turn my story into a harem. That bit's only for anime stories, and I feel ( pretty much like most in this particular fic category ) that it will be distasteful for a warhammer universe. With that being said, I do hope you don't feel bad and keep enjoying my stories. As for your other suggestions, we'll see...**

 **Anyways, here's another chapter for all you who've been waiting ever so patiently.**

 **}!{**

Celestine's words flowed on their own accord, but her eyes watched all who were present with great scrutiny. All that were called had answered, as she was led to believe. She had arrived the day that the conclaves gathered all the promising neophytes handpicked from distant worlds to serve the Ecclesiarchy as new Sisters of Battle. Clearly, there would be no better opportunity to witness to these younglings than this, to bring the Emperor's Correction upon the wayward Order.

All that were called had answered. Or had they?

"There are few of you." The Saint declared after a moment of silence, "Where are the Cardinals and Deacons? Have I not summoned them as well?"

Another moment of silence, broken only by the faint chime of incense bowls swinging about in their chains. "Holy Saint..." A missionary dared to speak, "...they have locked themselves within the Puritorium. Per the Arch-Cardinal's orders, he insisted on overseeing the education of the neophytes and newcomers- to instruct them in the ways of better serving the God-Emperor."

"Did they really think this task is above the one set by the Emperor himself, the one I am bringing forth from his own lips?" Celestine was livid, to say the least. "Where is this Puritorium? Take me there, that I may re-educate these fools! Come!"

The missionary nodded once and motioned for his peers to gather around that they may march upon the chambers of the Arch-Cardinal together. "Right this way, Holy Saint."

The gentle flap of Celestine's wings, accompanied by the faint hum of hushed hymns sung in the rectories produced a quiet atmosphere that easily masked the sinister nature of the Ecclesiarchy's inner workings- a nature that the Saint had long been ignorant of but would soon find out. The Puritorium lay beyond the wide halls of Penitencia, where the Arch-Cardinal and his coterie of servants busied themselves with the unknown.

Celestine frowned as she felt a dark presence within the chamber, something almost palpable and just as nonexistent, slipping like vapor unnoticed by human eyes. With a wave of her hand she motioned for the doors to be opened. As the servitors moved to obey, Celestine found herself reaching for her sword, a move she could not determine why it would be necessary. She got her answer way too soon.

Her eyes fell upon the forms writhing, moving, dancing within the Puritorium and she recoiled in abject horror and unparalleled disgust.

The room was ablaze with purple light, casting its dizzying colors upon the old and wrinkled bodies of the Arch-Cardinal and his entourage of Deacons and Priests. The Arch-Cardinal himself sat upon a golden throne, a blasphemous representation of the one sitting on Holy Terra, with a naked child of no more than ten years seated upon his lap. With one hand he wrapped the chain of the leash attached to the spiked collar on her neck, and with the other he forced her head down that she may gobble his genitals while he leaned back in total bliss. All around him the Deacons committed these horrible and unspeakable acts upon the neophytes, regardless of their age or gender.

Girls were herded into circles stacked with satin pillows, whipped and spanked with floggers of leather and paddles of spiked wood. Some were even locked up on marble pillories and used turn in turn by the younger males while the Priests sipped their wine and touched themselves. The neophytes, innocent as lambs being led to slaughter, stood naked and ready for their masters to use as they pleased. The others who awaited their turn were forced to stand in the wings of the wide chamber, grasping plates filled with fruit and goblets of the finest wine. It did not take long, however, before the lust-addled Deacons moved close to them, groping and fondling their young breasts with wild abandon.

Celestine could not watch for a moment longer and with a voice akin to thunder, she bellowed as she drew her sword. "IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR, CEASE!"

The Arch-Cardinal coughed violently as his wine poured into his lungs. He flung the child on his lap off of him and scrambled to dress himself. The others, mortified that they were discovered, rushed for their weapons- which provided ample excuse for the twin Geminae Superior to unleash a torrent of bolter rounds that cut down the lechers where they stood!

"No!" The young women cried as the Deacons and Priests were destroyed in the ensuing fire, surprising even their saviors at the unexpected reaction. "Don't kill them!"

The girl who sat at the Arch-Cardinal's lap came between the Saint and her master just as the Ardent Blade's tip touched the base of his throat. Spit and male essence dripped from the corner of her lip as she pleaded for the Saint to spare his life, "He prepares me for serving the Emperor! He prepares us all! It is written in the _Lectitio Divinatus_!"

"Oh how far have you been misled, little one." Celestine answered sternly, executing the foul one with one thrust of her blade.

A chuckle in the dark sent a chill down her spine, and her blade rose to the source in a threatening manner. _**"Sex and violence, they are my favorites."**_

The swirl of purplish lights grew ever stronger, and Celestine felt herself torn from reality as a power that rivaled even that of the Emperor dragged her and her twin Geminae into the Warp! She arrived in the middle of a grand throneroom of marble and dark obsidian, surrounded by walls of living flesh, writhing and kissing, embracing in eternal delight. The Saint whirled around as the overwhelming psychic pressure threatened to crush her out of existence, desperate to find a way out of this hellhole. She knew who it was that dragged her here, and fear gripped her burning heart like a vise.

"Holy Emperor...guide my blade."

The chuckle grew into a gentle laugh, that went hand in hand with a raging cackle that sounded like thunder. Then, the Dark God Slaanesh revealed herself to the Saint, in all her glorious splendor and power. She, and also he, sat side by side upon two thrones, a dual aspect of the same Dark God. On one hand, the most beautiful nymph of unparalleled allure and mystery sat with a large goblet of blood held in between her slender fingers. Slaanesh's legs were crossed, revealing skin as smooth and finely sculpted beyond any mortal comparison. She sat clad in shimmering mists that barely covered her perfect body.

Her alter ego rose from his throne, flexing bared muscles of rigid and powerful form. Celestine would observe and compare him to something comprehensible, but all she kept thinking at that moment was the haunting similarity between Slaanesh and Horus!

 _ **"Your beloved Emperor has no power here..."**_ Slaanesh taunted, _**"That man had served me well with his indulgence of his true desires, and I did not appreciate you killing him. Do you know who you've just slighted, Saint of the Imperium?"**_

"A god who will soon be dead." Celestine fixed her blade firmly, lips growing taut with determination.

Slaanesh's quick temper got the better of him, _**"I've enjoyed hearing your screams of agony when Abaddon broke your wings, and I shall enjoy it more when I tear them out fiber by fiber!"**_

Slaanesh calmed down just as quickly, and with a voice as sweet as syrup, she spoke to the Saint. _**"But I'm getting ahead of myself..."**_

Celestine roared and with a flap of her wings, she flew upon the Dark God's throne and raised her weapon against the twin aspects. Slaanesh had only to wave her hand and the Saint found herself trapped in a stasis field, unable to move and unable to act. The Dark God clucked her tongue disapprovingly, _**"You dare to strike against your host while I merely brought you here for a gift? Shameful manners, no wonder your beloved Imperium is doomed to crumble. Little Horus had better manners, now that boy's got a future."**_

She noted the Saint's look of murderous intent at the mention of her friend's name. _**"Ah, but you no longer see him as just a friend, do you?"**_ Slaanesh giggled, reading every thought and hidden desire lurking in the fringes of the Saint's psyche. Her fingers caressed the Saint's scarred cheek, _**"Trouble yourself no longer, my uptight winged friend...I shall grant you the best gift any god can give a hardworking servant- peace."**_

The Saint gasped, her mind overwhelmed by an unknown sensation as the power of Slaanesh flowed through her veins and seeped into the cracks of her consciousness. _**"Peace...eternal peace..."**_ The Dark God's words echoed in the recesses of her mind.

All faded into blackness.

* * *

Celestine's eyes opened.

She lay upon a softly cushioned bed, covered in smooth silk and furry pillows. Her hand clenched into a fist as she gathered the blankets in confusion, and she raised her head up to look around.

The doors to her side were open, revealing a balcony that overlooked a waterfall that cascaded over a large mountain and poured into a crystalline lake below. The air was sweet and cool, brought upon by early spring. The sounds of laughing waters, twittering birds gentle rustle of leaves upon the trees produced a serene melody that calmed her frantic heart.

It was so beautiful.

Celestine smiled, then froze as something heavy around her waist fell slack. She flipped the blanket to reveal a muscular male arm draped over her stomach, her eyes widened as she realized to her surprise that the arm belonged to none other than Horus himself! Celestine uttered a strangled gasp as she slipped away from the Primarch's grasp and ended up waking him, prompting his hand to grasp gently around her wrist as she moved away.

"Good morning." He greeted her, eyeing her with concern as Celestine gazed about with frightened eyes. "What's wrong, my love?"

Celestine blinked, unsure of how to answer. She could not remember why, but something was off about this place, something unnatural.

Hearing the gentle rumbling of Horus' voice did little to bring back any semblance of order to those chaotic thoughts, and soon she forgot what she was thinking. "Celestine. Come back to bed, let me make love to you again."

Celestine's jaw slackened, and her heart fluttered. "A-Again?" Did they do it once before?

Horus was already atop of her, and Celestine squeaked as his lips kissed her neck just below her jawline. "S-Stop!" She pushed at him, but found her arms weigh like blocks of ceramite, and Horus kept his assault on her vulnerable body. The most frightening thing about it all was that Celestine found herself enjoying the Primarch's attentions, and her protests weakened as much as her will. "Please...stop."

"Why?" Horus whispered against the skin of her belly, "Am I going too fast?" His pace slowed to a torturous crawl, "There, is that better?"

Celestine uttered another wordless gasp, and she grabbed onto her lover's hair. Horus was going lower and lower, to the apex of her thighs that was the most guarded part of her body. Sacred and untouched, Celestine had never dreamed of anyone getting within a meter's length of that place- though secretly she'd thought of one in only but a single sinful moment.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, however, as her sensitive region's security was breached. Horus' mouth moved, kissing her where a woman should never be kissed- much less a Saint! "H-Horus!" Her fingers drew close to grasp at his hair, and Celestine arched her back at the sweet agonizing feeling shooting up her spine. It was wrong, all damnably wrong.

But hell, it felt so right, so good! She wanted this, she wanted it badly and now she was getting it! "Ohhh...what are you doing to me?" Celestine's arms fell lax, and they flopped on either side of her head as Horus moved atop of her. The Saint met the Primarch's lips with her own, this time compliant and eager for whatever came next. The excitement in her had been stoked from a mere spark to a steady flame.

"I'm doing what I've always wanted to do." Horus whispered, his loins suddenly meeting the smaller woman beneath him in one heated joining. "What I've wanted since I've seen you in that armor, held aloft in heaven's arms. Now, I join you in heaven. You are my whole world, Celestine." His words poured coals into the flame, stirring her into an inferno. Damn the consequences of an unknown sin, Celestine wanted him even more than before.

Horus' thrusts were gentle, hurting and pleasing the Saint as well as driving her to crave a stronger pace. Her arms wrapped around Horus' neck, and her legs coiled about his waist, daring him to go faster. "More..." Celestine moaned as the massive appendage splitting her apart rubbed at her inner walls, "More..."

Horus obliged her request, and fucked her harder.

 _ **"Celestine..."**_

Tears welled up in the pits of Celestine's eyes as the still, small voice in her head called for her to see reason. Sanity dawned upon her for a second, then was snuffed out by the waves of pleasure crashing down upon her mind.

 _ **"Daughter...come with me...fight the power that keeps you prisoner...break free from this illusion..."**_

"No..." Celestine embraced Horus harder, "I don't want to go." She wanted to stay. She felt peaceful here, in the arms of the one her heart yearned for. But then, she thought amidst the suffocating happiness of the truth. This was not Horus Lupercal, not really. Why would she find comfort in an illusion? It was a sin, a weakness that allowed her to fall in this test.

But she would not remain fallen for long.

"Father, God-Emperor!" Celestine's illusion faded, "Save me!"

The Emperor tore through the darkness and snatched up the Saint by the arm, rescuing her from the Warp in a nick of time! Had she stayed for a few moments longer, the Saint would have been lost to the dreams of forbidden desires. Slaanesh roared in fury at this slight and swore to take vengeance, but was ignored altogether. The Emperor, with his angel in hand, opened a rift in realspace and thrust Celestine back into halls of Sephariele- where she had stood all this time.

"My lady? What's wrong?" Her geminae inquired, having watched her mistress grow stiff and unresponsive since slaying the foul Arch-Cardinal in the Puritorium.

Celestine's cheeks burned as a blush formed on her face, stemming from great embarrassment and shame. "Clean up this mess and burn the bodies. I must retire to a prayer room, there is much I must reveal unto the Emperor." She turned away, eager to get out of the forsaken chamber. She left the neophytes into her geminae's care and entered the solace of a private chamber where she can commune with her god undisturbed.

She had many sins to confess this day, and many a vow to be remade.

* * *

"Have we found it, my lord?" Otho asked, a triumphant grin forming at his lips behind his helm as he stared at the glowing tables of glass and dark steel. "The key to creating the new legions?"

"It is as you say." Horus replied, running his hand over the object of their expedition. After weeks of traversing the treacherous paths of the Librarius Omnis, they had finally laid claim to the STC's that the Emperor had instructed him to retrieve. The strain it had placed on him had been borne with little complications, and Horus was grateful it was that simple. Now, all he had to do was return to Terran space to prepare the gene-forges for his new sons to be introduced into this dark universe.

"The return of the Luna Wolves! I never thought I'd live to see the day!" Galio breathed.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Horus cautioned, stepping back for the automata to begin packing up the artifacts to be loaded into the convoy. "We shall return to the surface first, then on to Terra we shall go."

"With all due haste, Primarch." Galio bowed, "Come along lads, we've got work to do."

The trek back was not a swift one, but the span of time was halved in this case, for Horus had done well to ensure that their paths have been mapped for future expeditions to follow. He cared little for this gesture, but he had to leave at least one gift to the Adeptus Mechanicus for allowing him passage in the first place. He would not let it be said that he had returned to his selfish ways, and so he went out of his way to ensure that the ties between Terra and Mars remained ever stronger.

Captain Maranda saluted the Primarch as he returned to the bridge of the _Divine Fury_. "Shall I make preparations for the journey to Holy Terra, my lord?"

"Send them the good news." Horus replied as he sat upon the Throne Mechanicum, "I would have them expect our arrival."

 **}!{**


	29. Typhus' Folly Part One

**}!{**

Horus took a deep breath to calm his violently throbbing chest, and pushed open the doors leading into the garrison. The unnamed station, which shall remain unnamed for many good reasons, would be the staging ground for the Imperium's new breeding program for its next generation of astartes- henceforth dubbed the _Dominus Primaris_ in honor of Belisarius Cawl, whose aid both in the construction of the station and deciphering of the STC codex genome had been instrumental in making all of these accomplishments possible. Cawl confessed that he had the project in mind for more than ten thousand years now, never arriving at the intended conclusion until after Horus excavated the codex and passed it along. It was the Primarch whom he deemed responsible for the feat, not him.

Still, Horus refused to allow the honor and glory to go to his head, focusing instead on giving back all to his Legion-soon-to-be.

The Primarch marched into the massive assembly chamber, where hundreds of promising volunteers stood in neat rows close to the walls as servitors and skull-probes scanned and prepared them for the trials necessary to bring out the best in them for the transformation. Within the month, these men would be changed from mortal beings into demigod transhumans worthy of taking up the mantle as defenders of mankind.

The recruits beheld their gene-sire for the first time since they arrived at the closely guarded establishment, awe and fear making themselves evident in their gaze as they took in the piercing kind eyes, the finely chiseled face- the face of the Emperor himself. Horus returned their gaze with his own, a proud smile forming on his otherwise taut lips. He paused to address them formally, even though the recruits have been oriented on the procedures by the staff an hour before their arrival here. He didn't speak of duty or reminded them of the justice of their sacrifice for the cause. Instead, he thanked them sincerely for their dedication and trust in him, for it wasn't a mere transformation for them- they would be reshaped according to the Lupercal's gene seed.

They would be, essentially, him.

Most wouldn't be ready for such a step, but not them, and that's precisely why Horus was grateful for their support. In a galaxy rife with hatred, most directed at him, loyalty was hard to come by. He commanded it now, but he had no intention of abusing it. He would do better this time, far better.

"They are so many." Galio of the Bannerless Brethren remarked, watching from above as his Primarch greeted the recruits and welcomed them into the fold. Otho grinned, leaning against the railing as he counted the lines formed at the chamber below.

"I've never heard you so happy like this unless it was in the frontlines, killing xenos."

"Why wouldn't I be?" The ancient growled in a non-threatening manner, "Our Legion's fall from grace was a travesty not so easily forgotten. This event has proven there is room for redemption. And soon, all other Legions shall make their soon return when word finally spreads throughout the Imperium."

"Do not forget, wise one..." Alduin reminded, "...that we are sworn to secrecy while the _Dominus_ project has not reached its intended climax. If the enemy hears of this, and they will, what's to stop them from trying to undermine all we have worked for?"

"I have not forgotten, my friend." Galio replied, "But they all must know one day. Until then, as you say, I shall proceed with all due discretion."

True to his word, the ancient kept the secret as much as anyone onboard the unnamed station. Horus, given all the powers at his disposal by the Emperor himself, isolated the floating fortress from the Imperium as well. This was due, in no small part, to the opposition it would cause when the general assumptions of separate factions would be overwhelming- to say the least. Not all were open to this solution, especially the former generation of spacemarines. It would be seen as a move to replace them, as they had done with the Thunder Warriors in the Age of Strife, whereas Horus had done so only to bolster the already beleaguered forces of the Imperium.

He did not wish to replace anyone, and that was that.

When they were finished here, he aimed to reinforce those Chapters most devastated by the wars and retake the scattered bastions of the Imperium. That would mean having to face the hostilities of some Chapters who would undoubtedly believe this to be an act of treason against the Emperor, for whose work had been meddled by mortal hands. A minor problem to some, but not to Horus. For from these doubts springs seeds of dissent, and from dissent breeds treachery- which will inevitably lead to Chaos.

He would tread carefully around the subject, and that was all he could do. Inwardly, he prayed his acts of benevolence would be enough to sway their judgement into a more favorable nature.

Weeks passed, and the 20 Phases of the transformation trials were completed. By the end of the month, amazingly, there were no complications with any of the recruits! All 891 fully upgraded, treated and indoctrinated _Dominus_ astartes emerged absent any taint, flaw or defect! Whether it was due to the intact genetic templates or information within the STC codex, or Horus' pure gene-seed, the results were undeniably the same for every one of them! Horus took this news to heart and rejoiced, welcoming each and every one of his new sons into the reformed Luna Wolves Legion.

Their armor and equipment, as much as their improved state of being, would be the best offered in the Imperium. The finest power-armor, the most advanced variants of bolters, the prototype vehicles of transportation and destruction- Horus spared no expense in spoiling the Luna Wolves of these gifts.

The Bannerless Brethren, seeing that their duty to Horus has ended, expected to be cast aside now that the Luna Wolves Legion had been reformed- a culmination of all Horus' efforts in restoring the Imperium and reclaiming its former glory. They were astounded to find out, however, that Horus decided to offer them a place at his side, continuing their service to him as captains of his new legion.

All, save for Apothecary Ygor, took up his offer and agreed to undergo extensive geno-recreation and cybernetic improvements. Ygor declined respectfully, stating that he had prior commitments to his own chapter and feared that if he threw it aside in favor of Horus would reveal him as a traitor and a glory-hogger.

Horus understood the Apothecary's point of view and did not take offense to his refusal. He had him commended with honors in return for his loyal service and sent him on his way back to Ultramar, where Guilliman had him stationed.

Galio was put in charge of the newly formed specialist group dubbed the Intercessors, a standard multi-role heavy infantry of the Primaris Space Marines and is similar in combat function to a Tactical Squad of standard Astartes or a Legion Tactical Squad of ancient Astartes Legionaries.

Thavos was given command of the Aggressors. They are a new type of Astartes heavy combat support specialists unique to formations of Primaris Space Marines. They are tasked with heavy long-range fire support and have been outfitted with modified suits of Mark X Gravis Power Armour refitted to carry shoulder-mounted missile launchers that can be automatically reloaded from internal stores within their battle-plate. They also wield Flame Gauntlets that unleashing blazing streams of Promethium upon any foes that get in close.

Alduin, Master of the Signal, was not given a specialist task force directly. Rather, the former Emperor's Children astartes lent his skills to form an exceptional intelligence gathering group that functioned as attack coordinators that would prove very effective in complex maneuvers and tactics in the battles to come. None gave them scorn for their choice in specialty, for Horus taught them that strength came in many forms, and the Luna Wolves must complement each other no matter the differences.

Mordekai accepted his duties as captain as he always did, with stoic silence. He already earned a nickname amongst his Luna Wolves brethren as the 'Silent Captain' for his eerie lack of interaction, but for what he lacked he made up with direct and very brutal methods of accomplishing his intended tasks. Hellblasters, as was his unit was called, are Primaris Space Marines who are intended to serve in the role of heavy fire support and are armed with Mark III Belisarius Pattern Plasma Incinerators. They serve a similar combat function as the ancient Legion Tactical Support Squads and to present-day Devastator Squads found among standard Astartes. Mordekai was not one for words, but action, and he showed plenty as examples louder than words could ever be- and was surprisingly loved by his brothers all the more for it.

Graves, having learned much in the ways of the shadow-warrior in his time battling the xenos, became the head of the Reivers. They are a new type of Astartes combat specialist who are tasked for close-combat stealth operations. Their Mark X Tacticus Power Armour has been modified to display a skull-faced helm, to possess enlarged left-side pauldrons and to run completely silently. Reivers are armed primarily to engage in close combat, and all make use of Combat Knives, Power Swords, heavy Bolt Pistols and handheld, deadly versions of the Bolt Rifle. Reivers can also stun enemy infantry with Shock Grenades or deploy deep behind hostile lines via Grapnel Launcher or Grav-Chutes.

And lastly, Otho Galatian was given charge of the Inceptors, a variant similar in combat function to an assault marine squad. They would be instrumental in providing reconnaissance, fast strikes and guerrilla warfare to harass enemy positions.

At last, all was ready. Horus wasted no time in assembling the young legionnaires to prepare them for the tasks set before them. It was the greatest Crusade of the Emperor, the oldest story retold once more. His brothers were still out there, waiting to be reclaimed for the Imperium. Once, earlier in his campaign, Horus was left to improvise with the lack of resources and information required for a clear direction. Akin to divine providence, Horus received word of the possible location of the Primarch Leman Russ. Visions, brought by Russ himself to the Rune Priests of Fenris, showed him battling through the endless hordes of Chaos in an attempt to save the Emperor's fading body.

He heard tales of Russ' quest in searching for the Tree of Life, a mythical font of uncorrupted Warp energy hidden somewhere within the Immaterium that bears fruit said to be able to heal the Emperor and restore Him to full life.

The Tree of Life could only mean Isha, the aeldari goddess that the Emperor had spoken of in their time together on Terra. If Leman Russ was to find her and wrest her away from Nurgle's disease-ridden realm, he would need the Lupercal's help. That would mean he would have to venture towards Fenris, summoning all of the Space Wolves and their succession chapters, uniting them into one legion and venture into the Warp to give his brother his much needed aid.

Suddenly, just as the Luna Wolves prepared to embark on their long trek across the sea of stars, the alarm klaxons blared overhead. An enemy fleet had been sighted on approach vector, directly headed for the unnamed station! " _My lord!"_ Someone contacted the Primarch, _"The forces of Chaos are upon us! Confirmation received, it is the Terminus Est!"_

Horus frowned, not at all recognizing the flagship's name. "Brother Galio?"

"My lord, that is Typhus' flagship." Galio explained with great abhorrence, finding the name absolutely distasteful on his lips. "He was the traitor Primarch Mortarion's First Captain, and is the dark god Nurgle's chosen apostle. He brings with him the most virulent plagues imaginable, and if he comes for us, he seeks to despoil your Legion while it remains at its infancy!"

"He will do no such thing!" Horus declared, turning to his sons and raising Soulrender high. "Brothers! Sons of the Luna Wolves Legion! Hear me! A pestilent horde approaches, seeking to hinder our attempts to bring the light back to mankind! We will not falter, we will not break, we will bring the fires of hell upon them and cleanse them from this reality!"

His words were met with silent affirmation, all weapons were raised up upon their shoulders in salutation.

"To arms, and may the Emperor guide your aim and keep you!" Galio echoed, donning his helm as he motioned for his battle-brothers to move out.

* * *

Upon the _Terminus Est_ , the Chaos Lord Typhus sat upon its command throne, overseeing its filth-encrusted cannon and infected crew. The _Terminus Est_ has become a harbinger of the Plague God. From its bloated launch bays and pustule-studded holds, rusting dropships are vomited down in putrid brown waves. Inside, Death Guard Plague Marines hunch over corroded blades and pitted bolt guns, waiting for their chance to carry out the will of Nurgle. More than merely a vessel, the _Terminus Est_ is a vile legend and symbol of fear for the people of Imperium. Even a whisper of the ship's presence in a sector can send planetary governors and system lords screaming to the Imperial Guard and Imperial Navy for protection. However, when the Terminus Est darkens the skies of a world, there is little that can save its people - their fate sealed as the terrible attentions of the Plague God fall upon them.

M35 was the first confirmed sighting of T _erminus Est_ after the Horus Heresy, and coincided with the outbreak of the Destroyer Plague in the Agripinaa Sector. A wasting disease of terrible and lethal speed, it depopulated a dozen worlds within the space of a month. Each time the shadow of the Terminus Est was sighted lurking at the edge of the affected system.

Once, the _Terminus Est_ \- while in a class of its own - was like other warships of the Imperium, its slab-sided hull festooned with guns, its armoured prow bearing the emblems of the Emperor. However, nothing that succumbs to the power of Chaos will escape its mutating effects for long, not even a mighty battleship of the Imperium. Now its ancient bulkheads are held together only by rust, its corridors are choked by the eternally rotting corpses of its crew, and indescribable foulness drips, oozes and dribbles from its every inch. Where once proud plasteel, ceramite and adamantium plates covered its decks, now a living, slick layer of infected flesh dominates. Festering bone shards, rotten fangs and malformed teeth project from every surface. The trapped souls of all those that have served and died upon its decks distort the fleshy walls with their rotting faces, screaming and wailing from their pestilent prisons within the hull. Over centuries in the Warp it has soaked in the very essence of Chaos; it has become a living thing, its decaying form crawling with Nurgle's minions. The halls and chambers of the _Terminus Est_ have been transformed into a reflection of Nurgle's realm. Bloated flies fill the foetid air, while soupy puss drips down from overhead like warm rain. The repellent, twisted things that shamble through this miasma of corruption are barely human any more, bloated with disease and riddled with weeping sores. These "crew" tend to the ship's needs, feeding decaying corpses into its engines or nurturing its garden of shining boils and pustules until they are ready to burst. Only the Death Guard Plague Marines are unhindered by the vessel's contagions, marching about its corridors silent and grim as the ship bears them across the stars. However, in truth, the Terminus Est needs neither crew nor captain to guide it, having taken on a dark sentience from its daemonic patron.

The Plague Lord's gifts have also found their way into the gun decks and weapon batteries of the _Terminus Est_ , and where once macro cannon hurled vast plasma warheads into the void, now strange and horrific growths take their place. Dribbling sphincters line the side of the ship, periodically belching filth out into space; when an enemy ship comes into range they spasm and cough out meteoric torrents of caustic debris. Each discharge is capable of blinding sensors and burning through the hull of enemy vessels. These Warp weapons are just as deadly as any macro cannon or lance turret possessed by the Imperium, and make the _Terminus Est_ a deadly opponent. The rotting hull and distended gun decks of the Chaos vessel have fooled more than one Imperial captain. Only when the Imperial warship draws too close to escape does _Terminus Est_ release its full fury, fleshy cannon yawning wide to bathe its foe in a viscous surge of bile. Worse than the catastrophic hull damage the daemonic weapons can inflict is the contagion they impart. Able to live in the cold emptiness of space or leap through vacuum to infect new hosts, the Destroyer Plague carried by Typhus and the _Terminus Est_ is capable of killing the crew of a compromised ship in mere hours.

Typhus and his flagship are inextricably linked, and the _Terminus Est_ is as riddled with the Destroyer Plague as its captain. Warp-flies fill its corridors and chambers, a seemingly unending stream of glistening insects buzzing across every deck. These same swollen minions of Nurgle also protect the Terminus Est from enemy ordnance or boarding craft, forming a writhing, undulating cloud around the warship. From a distance across the gulf of space this carpet of Warp-flies distorts the shape of the vessel, making it hard for gunners to lock onto a section of the Terminus Est or target any of its vital systems. Any ship foolish enough to try and dock with the Chaos vessel or initiate a boarding action will become enveloped by the Warp-fly cloud, the tiny horrors choking augurs and spilling through hull breaches and cycling torpedo tubes.

Horus' station had been outfitted with the best defenses available at the time, and seemed to hold off the plague fleet well enough for a brief period before the _Terminus Est_ itself began soaking up every ordnance and energy beam lancing through space as it crawled ever closer towards the battle-station. The floating fortress seemed like an easy target, light years away from help and alone in a secluded system. Typhus almost smiled at the carelessness of the Lupercal clone dwelling within its steel walls, but remained cautious. This clone was able to defeat all the forces of Chaos thrown at the Cadian Gate, dethroning Abaddon on the same day and sent many a traitor screaming into oblivion.

He would not make Abaddon's mistake, he made certain of that.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the plague fleets were assaulted by a string of quick and very surgical strikes that crippled many of their key attack cruisers and dispatched hundreds worth more of assault frigates. A new player had entered the game, and both Typhus and Horus received this news astounded and shocked beyond words.

The Ynnari, after being held back for so long in the Webway, at last emerged to take part in the Great War that would decide the fates of both mankind and the Eldar.

 **}!{**

 **Just a few chapters mooooorreeee...**


	30. Typhus' Folly Part Two

**}!{**

"The witches are here!" The battery commander exclaimed, "Good! More xenos to kill in His name! Divert a third of the guns to bring those cruisers down!"

"Wait!" Horus stopped him, "Focus your fire on the immediate threat- the flagship of Typhus. The eldar may not be the aid we prefer, but they are the aid we need at this time."

"But Primarch..." Galio asked, "...what's to stop them from stabbing us in the back while it is yet turned?"

"My lord, incoming transmission from the eldar flagship!" The comms officer barked, "Shall I accept?" Horus nodded in affirmation, and the flickering image of the Prophetess Yvraine appeared on the holocron. At her side was the aeldari Farseer Eldrad Ulthran.

 _"Greetings, Lord Horus of Terra, I am Yvraine of the Ynnari. My people are here to assist in your battle against Typhus, so I ask that you do not train your station's weapons upon us."_

"The Eldar, here to assist us?" Horus had plenty of cause to remain suspicious, but the Primarch was not so. The minute he saw Eldrad at the side of the Prophetess, he knew their intentions were pure, though it was hard to judge the enigmatic ambitions of the eldar accurately. "What interesting times we live in."

 _"Am I to take that as your compliance?"_

"You are." Horus replied, "But let me be clear this one time; my men will not attack you if you show the same amount of restraint on your part. Break the truce, and you will suffer the wrath of the Luna Wolves. Understand?"

Yvraine nodded and terminated the connection, leaving the station commander bewildered at the Primarch's decision. He knew better than to question it openly, and so he remained silent about his opinions. "The hangars are open for the cruisers to depart, Primarch. We shall do our part here and soften them up for you."

"Very good, commander." Horus donned his helm and exited the station along with his First Company. The _Divine Fury_ detached from port, accompanied by several dozens of battleships, light cruisers and a hundred or so escorts. The swift conglomeration of eldar and human fighters swarming over the massive, diseased construct of the Plague God. The Primarch of the reformed Luna Wolves legion boarded their vessels that they may prepare to breach the rusted hulls of the _Terminus Est._ Horus didn't wish to just tear the thing apart, he wanted to ensure that the commander of the plague legions would be blotted out of existence. The casualties of such an endeavor would be high, but worth the risk. Nurgle's hold on this reality will weaken, enough that they may take control of this chaos-ridden reality.

The _Divine Fury_ shuddered as the chaos voidfleet opened fire, bathing their shields with corrosive bile globs and radiation clouds as the bombs were hurled across space. Horus stood at the vanguard of his reborn sons, face taut with determination as the pods were jettisoned into the void, aimed directly for the battered surface of the _Terminus Est_. Horus brought with him the finest of his terminator spacemarines, of whose tenacity and endurance had been boosted specifically for the many horrifying new diseases the Plague God surely had in store for them.

They breached the hull and landed three decks past their intended target, directly within the bile pits that acted as the _Terminus Est's_ gun battery main ammunition reserves. Here, the servants of Nurgle do not stand alone. Rather, the very halls are filled with Typhus' Destroyer Hives and all manner of plaguebearer daemons. The temptation to purge all in purifying flame proved too great, and so the Luna Wolves succumbed to the maddening brilliance of prometheum, bathing their enemies in its hungering light. The flames danced across the rusted and bile-encrusted walls and pipeworks, spreading over into the pits of boiling hot green sludge and sewage. The spacemarines' faces twisted in permanent grimaces of apparent disgust within their helms as they beheld the unspeakable horrors of the Warp. Horus had seen much of Nurgle's influence back in the day, but never before had he seen it at this stage of corruption. It was like peering into a mere sliver of the Plague God's realm, perhaps a foreshadowing of his soon attempt to wrest Isha from his grasp to save the Emperor.

"Burn it all!" Galio thundered, "Remind the Dark Gods that their reign is ending! Burn! It! All!"

At his command, the Luna Wolves discharged their weapons at the amassing horde. A good thing too, for the responding plague marines were quick to converge on the breach team's position. The floors and walls were blackened to soot, a result of the spacemarines' infernal weaponry wiping clean the tainted grounds. Here, they felt safer to tread, and so only walked upon what their flamers had burned. Bolt shells rained down upon the path as Horus and his sons boldly pressed forward, undeterred by the plague marines seeking to bar their progress. Blood and bile, corrosive goop and all manner of detestable substances spilled onto the _Terminus Est's_ many decks as every team moved ever closer to the massive construct's bridge- where Typhus remained interred.

Upon securing entrance into access halls of the ancient warship, the Primarch was met with a brilliant explosion of psychic energies that could only mean the eldar teleporting aboard the _Terminus Est._ His terminator brethren swiveled their guns upon the multitude of Ynnari guardians, warriors and exarchs, as the cocoon of energies dissipated into shimmering mists, revealing the Prophetess Yvraine and her companion the Farseer Eldrad. Likewise, the wary aeldari soldiers moved into a defensive stance in case the Mon'kei legionnaires opened fire.

"Stand down." Horus commanded, "Today the Eldar cause is in line with us. I intend to keep it that way."

"Eldrad spoke highly of your wisdom, Primarch Lupercal." Yvraine replied, "I must admit, I am surprised to see you've proven his words to be true."

Horus motioned for her to come with him, "We can exchange pleasantries when the danger has passed, Prophetess. Presently, we must deal with Typhus and his hordes of pestilence." The Prophetess was a beautiful eldar woman, as much as anyone of her kin would be expected to look like. Her hair was a glossy mane of purest white, cropped at the sides and tied into a neat little tail that flew behind her head like a broken standard. Yvraine was dressed in a tight fitting Farseer garb with an assortment of trappings hailing from her long journeys in the Webway and beyond. Her feet remained bared at the toes and heels, but this did not seem to bother her at all when she walked upon the cold steel floors. She carried with her a sabre, of whose blade sang of a thousand deaths at her hand. Another thing of note was the jade crown that sat above her brows.

When they have gone a ways further from their troops, who remained at a fixed distance from each other, Horus addressed the Prophetess on the matter at hand. "You didn't come all this way just to extend a helping hand to us, did you?"

Yvraine merely smiled. The Mon'kei Primarch was sharp.

"There's no point dancing about the issue, if we are to be allies you must show a level of trust. I extend this much goodwill to you, now you must return the favor." Horus said, his patience growing thin.

"Typhus holds a divine artifact within this vessel, stolen from the halls of the Black Library. He plans to deliver it unto his master, your brother Mortarion." Yvraine revealed, "Before he is to be defeated, we must retrieve it from his hands and use it against him. You may kill the unclean one, but the artifact belongs to the Ynnari."

"How did he manage to obtain this artifact?"

"How is not important, the fact that he holds it is." Yvraine said, "While it yet remains in his possession, know that Typhus has the power to control the Warp itself, bending it to his will that he may cause all things to decay at his command."

"This artifact, does it have a name?"

The eldar priestess nodded, "It is called the Hand of Darkness."

"Interesting." Horus flexed the fingers of the Nebula Gauntlet, the ancient pre-Heresy artifact he had recovered in the vaults of Mars. "Very well, I shall endeavor to retrieve this 'Hand of Darkness' for you. But let me be clear. If it proves too dangerous, I shall exhaust all means to see to its destruction- and Typhus along with it."

Yvraine frowned, but uttered a humorless chuckle. "I doubt you'd manage to do such a thing, but you are certainly welcome to make the attempt."

* * *

"My lord, you trust these vermin?" Galio asked on a secure vox-channel shared between him, the Primarch, and his fellow captains. "It is a different case letting them barge into the battles outside the station, and another when we walk side by side."

"I do, to some extent." Horus replied, "I understand your skepticism, Brother Galio, and I will not ask you to smother it. Remain wary for me, but do not break the truce. If anyone here is to betray the other first, it will be the xenos- not man."

Galio hated the alien, whatever the form, but he upheld honor above hatred. Without it, mankind would be nothing more than the greenskin hordes that roam the cosmos, another barbarian race unworthy of the name of man. "Yes, my Primarch." The captain and his men walked on the opposite side of the catwalks parallel to where the Ynnari warriors tread. They had not gone long when upon a sudden, the task force was assaulted by another horde of disgusting, bile-encrusted daemons brandishing rusted axes and diseased warclubs. Their blubbering cries of joy at the sight of new playmates were utterly detestable to the Luna Wolves, and they responded with a storm of bolter-fire that shredded the daemons into nothing but fine red mists. These hordes were then followed by another warband, this time of greater daemons spewed forth from the deepest recesses of the Fly Lord's realm of plagues! These loathsome creatures are each facsimiles of Nurgle himself, both physically and in terms of their personality. They welcomed the Luna Wolves to the _Terminus Est's_ foul underbelly, prognosticating the many 'wonders' of Papa Nurgle that awaited them should they choose to go further.

The answer of the newly formed legion was far simpler, and the greater daemons were repelled with the cleansing fires of the Luna Wolves' flamers.

"I will need a thorough cleansing with prometheum when this battle's over!" Galio exclaimed. As the captain turned about to look for their aeldari allies, he discovered to his great surprise that they had disappeared! Not a single Ynnari soldier or exarch remained in sight, and the Luna Wolf uttered a loud outburst of litanies and curses at his carelessness. "We have been betrayed! The foul xenos had left us to our end!"

Horus, as he fought alongside his sons and brothers, did not pay heed to his elder captain's words. He knew the Ynnari were up to something, and it was for the benefit of both races. He only hoped Yvraine still knew what honor meant, "Stand by me! Stay behind the shield!" He willed Soulrender to repel the Destroyer flies buzzing around the shimmering cocoon of psychic energies he had cast. This was the only way he and the Luna Wolves could pass unaffected by the myriad of diseases stemming from all around them. Horus' power was near limitless, even more so in the presence of Chaos magicks. "Onward!" He never feared the Plague God's curses or pestilence-ridden hordes, for he had gone through even worse hell than any disease could muster.

Then, just as he was about to forget of her, Yvraine and her acolytes reappeared in the middle of the swarming formation of pestigors, bearing aloft a strange black shard that burned with the intensity of a dying star. As Horus watched, transfixed, the flames on that artifact danced with growing strength, pulsating and heaving until it grew into a nightmarish humanoid form that burned out everything in its vicinity. The iconic symbol of the necron glyph appeared like a maker's brand upon the being's forehead as it finished its transcendence from a lonely shard into a complete C'tan form!

It cast its malevolent gaze upon the Prophetess Yvraine, and at her word, the ancient Star God seized control of the Luna Wolves' prometheum flamers and set the Unclean Ones on fire. The C'tan's hold upon realspace was greater than the Chaos Gods could ever have, and Nurgle's servants were completely at its mercy. Their squeals were like music to Horus' ears as they were reduced to ash and shot back into the Warp. He preferred to kill them permanently, but should he even lower his weapon to do so now would doom his sons into a painful death at the hands of the Destroyer hives.

Once all had been cleansed, Yvraine whispered unto the jade crown and returned the Burning One to its shard. The C'tan reluctantly obeyed and surrendered its flames to the Prophetess, who tucked the shard back into her bag of curios and turned to flash the Primarch a mischievous smirk. Captain Galio merely huffed and stomped off with his brothers, embarrassed to have his previous assumptions derailed as early as it had been formed.

"So you command the C'tan as well." Horus declared.

"Just this one." Yvraine replied, seeing that a little honesty here could be beneficial. "But it proves time and time again to be quite enough."

"I'd be more careful using that thing in the future if I were you." Horus cautioned. "I know many who would kill for a C'tan shard, even more so with that crown you carry that could command it."

"Duly noted."

With this intervention, the Luna Wolves begrudgingly gave their allies the benefit of the doubt, and it pleased Horus to see that the seed of alliances had sprouted its first leaf. It wasn't much, but it was a start. They would learn to trust one another, but it will take time. Even his redemption took years to come to realization.

* * *

In a world shard hidden beyond the veil of reality safely nestled within the Webway, Liivi and Taldeer prepared to leave their home, having decided to rejoin the ranks of the assembling aeldari. They had heard news of the stirring powers in the Imperium, the successes of the three brother Primarchs and the return of Horus Lupercal. Neutrality was not a choice, Taldeer knew that better than anyone. The balance between order and chaos was tipping, and not even their little hideout would be safe in the coming war. Little Senua had grown into a young girl of twelve around this time, and was no longer the helpless toddler she used to be.

Senua had shown a high affinity for the psychic arts early on, and at first her parents feared she would have great difficulty controlling her abilities. Thankfully, so far, nothing dangerous had occurred in her stay with them. Taldeer handed down everything she had been taught in her long years as a Farseer, instructing Senua to embrace herself as a halfling, never once discouraging the young one from exploring her psychic gifts- for she never needed to. Her daughter was born with a gentle heart, and her husband had proven to be an exceptional parent in spite of his shortcomings.

Though she displayed these gifts as a psyker, Senua had taken an interest in her father's stories as a marksman and so begged to be taught in the ways of the Vindicare. Unlike Taldeer, Liivi treaded a lot more carefully around the subject, never wishing to expose Senua to the horrors of his youth. He taught her what he knew about rifle maintenance, shooting straight, and blending to her surroundings without the aid of a cloaking device.

It was here that Senua developed her first psychic manifestation, in the form of a mimetic skin that often gave her the appearance of a chameleon whenever she'd emerge out of hiding in her occasional pranks on her loved ones. Additionally, having learned the eldritch lightning power from her mother, Senua proved innovative in this aspect, having then discovered her own manifestation of that power in the form of a devastating chain lightning. They felt she was ready to do her part in the long journey they would soon make.

The day they began their journey was also the day danger struck the little family. A drukhari raiding band, having been lost in the murky depths of the Webway, chanced upon their hideout by an unfortunate twist of fate. Sensing the powerful souls therein, they swooped down like locusts on a field ripe for harvest. Taldeer foresaw this among her many visions, each with different outcomes stemming from different actions, and reacted in the best way possible. Her old transporter, a remnant of her past so carefully maintained in the small hangar hidden in the forest behind their house, had been prepared for this situation long before it even happened. Plans within plans, that was how she and her husband kept their family alive and well all this time. If they stuck to it, all will go smoothly.

The only rogue element here was Senua, for the girl was an eddy in the river of fate, unpredictable and quite dangerous for lack of a better term. Taldeer hoped she would prove useful instead of burdensome in their escape attempt.

"I will cover your escape." Liivi declared, "Keep to the shade, stay out of sight. I will rejoin you when I've crippled them."

Taldeer was not the type to protest her husband's decision, knowing full well his capabilities as a Vindicare assassin. The years had not rendered him dull, the man had only grown stronger in his time with her. "Be careful, my love."

"We'll wait for you, father." Senua said, determined to see him alive after this.

The two women fled the house with their meager belongings, leaving Liivi to prepare for the impending battle. He donned the matte-black bodyglove synskin suit, relishing the cool feeling of the fibers fitting over his flesh like a second skin. Afterwards, he fastened his spy mask and lowered the visor over his face. As if not a single day had gone by since he laid that moniker to rest, the terrifying eyes on that visage lit up and the Vindicare assassin was reawakened.

Liivi picked up his Exitus rifle, a weapon responsible for the deaths of thousands- be they xeno or traitor, and slapped on a fresh clip of Turbo-penetrator rounds. He knew the dark eldar would bring heavy armored warriors to every raid to bolster their lesser equipped comrades, these special rounds should be adequate enough.

If they had psykers, his Exitus pistol was equipped with Shield-breaker rounds, perfect for energy shielding.

Having finished gearing up for war, Liivi slipped out of the house, setting the explosive traps before fading into the treeline. He revealed himself intentionally as he stepped out of the door to attract the attention of the approaching warband, and his bait worked exceptionally well. The drukhari burst through the grounds of his home and set off the trap, enveloping them in a ball of prometheum flame. Those left exposed to the flames were instantly turned to ash, and those that survived were left horrifically scarred from the flames. These deaths fueled the hungering desire for blood, and the drukhari doubled the pace in which they used to hound after the fleeing trio.

Unfortunately for them, the Vindicare assassin was more than a killer, he was one with a cause.

Once, he shed blood in the name of the Emperor, a thankless task that never brought him peace. To fight for his loved ones was the greatest fulfillment a man can have, and Liivi was no different.

He would die before he would let them touch his girls.

"I've got no strings, To hold me down..." Liivi sang quietly, each breath intake and exhalation bringing a kill to his tally. "To make me fret, Or make me frown..." The stock slammed into his shoulder, another dark eldar for the void.

"I had strings, But now I'm free..." The empty casing whistled past his face.

"There are no strings on me..."

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	31. The Dawn Rises

**This chapter should've come a long time ago. Sorry, I'm enjoying the holidays a little too much. Think of this as one of the many Christmas/ year end gifts I could give, and that's to my beloved readers out there. Enjoy!**

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The rusted slabs of reinforced steel and ceramite creaked open for the first time in millennia, giving way to Horus and his motley band of Luna Wolves and Ynnari. If he was appalled by the unmatched pestilent nature of Nurgle's touch, he was even more unsettled to witness the unparalleled heap of filth, defiled mulch and all manner of unbearable abominations. This unwholesome realm is home to every pox and affliction imaginable and is alive with the stench of rot, the kind that could melt through the rebreather grills in the finest power armors in existence!

Above the pile of writhing, living pox-filled flesh that seeped through the visible cracks of the floors and walls, sat the Traveler upon the Throne Mechanicum. The Herald of the Fly Lord, the undisputed servant of Rot and Decay second only to Mortarion himself, Typhus hurled forth his challenge upon the encroached heroes. He welcomed them in a manner unbecoming of an avatar of the jovial Dark God Nurgle, a bristling and mocking irony that earned his patron's displeasure. All were welcome to death and decay, there was no need for spite.

 _ **"Futile, your attempts to deny the glorious embrace of the Grandfather of all!"**_ His distorted voice, a storm of fluttering multitudinous wings of a thousand daemon flies, reverberated across the blighted chamber. _**"You refuse his gift of death, freedom from your cursed and weakened forms! Very well! Deny him at your peril, for now you are mine!"**_

At least, that was what the Fly Lord intended. Typhus roared and bellowed, his words falling on deaf ears as Horus quickly scanned the bridge for any that would give him and his sons an advantage. The Primarch whispered his commands to his sons, and they responded quickly to them. As soon as the Destroyer flies poured out of the bone-funnels in his back, a wave of cleansing, purging prometheum flame answered in kind. The power of Yvraine's crystal, the shard of the Burning One, intensified the fires of hell even further, and not even the blessings of the Warp could stave the wrath of the Luna Wolves. They weren't here to take their time, they hated every minute spent in this cursed place and wished to be gone as quickly as possible.

"Burn them all!" Captain Galio roared, "Let us finish this and be on our way!"

Suddenly, the murked air within the chamber shifted, swayed to the will of the Traveler. The power of the Hand of Darkness, of whose capabilities remained as enigmatic as its name, throttled many Luna Wolves and Ynnari warriors who were unprotected through time. They were thrusted a thousand years forward, causing them to age faster than their current rate. Before the eyes of their commanders, the valiant warriors collapsed under their own weight in bodies too old to hold them up. Bones grew brittle and cracked within their fleshy prisons, organs distended and burst from bile, and the blood within them ran cold as they ceased to move within rotted vessels.

Their armor rusted and cracked, and soon crumbled as the bodies within them turned to ash.

"Now do you see?" Horus barked at the Prophetess, "It must be destroyed!"

"I have said you are welcome to make that attempt!" She returned hotly, having grown impatient due to her efforts to control the C'tan at the same time dealing with her Mon'kei ally. "Be quick! The longer we stay here, the more powerful Typhus becomes from using the artifact!"

Horus whirled Soulrender about and sent a streak of raw psychic energy to lash out at Typhus, a strike that missed its mark when the Traveler leaned back and remained unharmed. Fortunately, the shot was not in vain, for the Throne Mechanicum burst into flames and exploded from the sudden rush of eldritch power. Typhus' control on the _Terminus Est_ was severed for a moment, allowing the ships bombarding it from the outside to gain the advantage and shatter it down to the lowest level of shielding. Levels and decks caught fire and burned out, with many others breaking away from repeated hammering.

"Brilliant, you've managed to graze him!" Yvraine exclaimed sardonically, immediately earning herself the ire of the Primarch's captains. "What's next, are you going to mesmerize him with your bedazzling light?"

"Guard your tongue when you address our Primarch, witch!" Galio snarled, "Or else I will part you from it!"

Horus pursed his lips at this, then smiled. "That is...actually not a bad idea. Cover your eyes, Prophetess." He raised Soulrender and willed it to cast the most brilliant flash of light it could muster, causing the Warp-maddened creatures of the Empyrean and all those traitor spacemarines to shrink and falter from the sudden luminance that erupted in the bridge.

Yvraine was at a loss for words at this response, earning herself an amused chuckle from the Lupercal as he walked forward to force Typhus down from his throne on high. "Thank you for your suggestion, Prophetess."

 _ **"Despair in darkness, Horus Lupercal!"**_ Typhus roared, making a wide slash with the Manreaper in an attempt to lay the Primarch low. The rusted scythe uttered a loud clang as it struck the hallowed spear, hooking onto it as both contenders tugged and pulled.

"A scythe? A scythe?!" Horus taunted, "Are you planning on murdering fields of wheat?"

 _ **"Yes! For you are that wheat, Primarch!"**_ The Herald snarled, dislodging the Manreaper that he may recover his stance. _**"Tall and golden, ripe for the harvest! Pray to your ailing father upon his Throne, for the locusts are upon you! I will shatter you in two, I shall take your head and mount it upon a spike! Your bones will pave my road to Terra, and your skin shall become my standard!"**_

"Quite a lot of plans coming from a dead man, I shall take much pleasure in their ruination." Horus said, twirling Soulrender deftly between his hands.

* * *

"Fwaah!" The drukhari warrior's mouth hung open, blood spilling out of that gaping hole as another yawned open from a round that discharged close to his face. He glared daggers at the last position he saw the sniper and lobbed a grenade in its direction, only to expose himself further to Liivi's killing shot. The marksman followed up quickly, dispatching the warrior with that single shot as he slid down the hill to fade into the treeline.

The raiding band was large enough to overwhelm the little family, and they would've succeeded in doing so had they stuck to their more formidable tactics instead of swooping in like greedy ravens they were on a slab of meat.

Liivi ran swiftly, but not enough to escape the faster, more agile elite of the drukhari pirates. Indeed, no amount of genetic enhancements or adaptations could fall on par with the superior bio-modifications of the aeldari, how much more for the dark eldar who had little to no boundaries in the pursuit of martial excellence?

The Vindicare assassin grunted as a violent blow struck him at the back of his head, breaking through the sturdy helmet and wounding him critically. He fell, instinct and training commanding his body to dive agilely across the brush and into a defensive crouch. Liivi closed his eyes, both of which were blinded momentarily from the drukhari reaver's strike, and thrust out his guns in preparation for a fight.

His chest ached as his heart relentlessly hammered against his ribcage. His wife and daughter were only a few hundred meters more from where he stood, ready for departure as soon as he could reach them. He couldn't risk dooming them to the same fate if he were caught here. No, he made that promise to himself a long time ago. They will be safe, even at the cost of his own life.

Liivi felt that warm trickle of blood oozing out of the gash on his head, that thin little stream sliding down his neck and onto his back. He braced himself as his ears warned him of an approaching band of jetbikes.

The enemy was fewer this time, their numbers cut down by his previous attempts to drive their attentions away from his family. They were few, but still a threat to take seriously.

In the latter days, Liivi relied on stealth to carry him through the missions he was tasked. Very rarely did he have to go toe to toe with the enemy like the average military grunt. Nevertheless, he was trained for situations like this. Trained to fight, and win.

"What to make of this one?" A high-pitched, whiny voice from a drukhari pirate called as he conversed with his fellows. The shrill cry of his jetbike's engines nearly drowned out his whole sentence as he circled the crouched Vindicare, like the others. "He won't do any good as a slave, much less a gladiator in the Pits!"

"Oh yes he will! We just lobotomize him, then we have a formidable soldier to help with the raids!" The answer came quickly, "Take him. Then we'll have some fun with the woman and her little one!"

One eye snapped open, and Liivi felled the last speaker of the two with a single shot, expending the last of his Exitus rifle's rounds and leaving him only with the pistol.

"Alright, new plan! We kill him, then we'll lobotomize the woman and her little one!" The first yelled, dismounting from his jetbike and brandishing hands fitted with wicked looking lightning claws. "I claim them for my bedchamber!"

Suddenly, a shaft of lightning shot out from the forest, throwing the warrior off his feet as deafening clap of thunder followed! The drukhari warrior fell to the dust, leaving his other four companions bewildered at the unexpected turn of events. Taldeer emerged from the thicket, carrying her spear in one hand and a handful of eldritch powers in the other.

"I thought you said you were just going to cripple them, dear husband." She referred to the downed Vindicare disapprovingly.

Liivi shrugged, "I got carried away."

The reavers leaped off their mounts and attacked the Farseer, screaming bloody murder as they did so. The years had not rendered Taldeer dull, as she so proved with each deft strike and parry of her spear. Her husband joined in the fight not long after, and together they repelled and dispatched the raiders for good. The bodies of the slain lay in a wide circle around the pair, and the two were left breathless and in disbelief at the swift conclusion of the ordeal. Nevertheless, Liivi was thankful it was over.

They moved back to the little ship, where Senua waited impatiently for her parents to return. Upon their arrival, she embraced her father and immediately got the first aid kit in the storage compartment. Soon, the little ship fired up its gellar field and the family was throttled through the safe passageway of the Webway.

Liivi closed his eyes as he felt his wife's tender hands slip under his mask to remove the helm, that she may inspect the gaping wound in the back of his head. He didn't feel the pain much, just the soothing touch of Taldeer as she worked to restore the ruined flesh there.

"They were close to killing you, you know." He heard her speak softly, almost as if she dreaded to say it. "Another inch and all that's left of you is a hollowed husk."

"If I hadn't bought you the time, it would be you and Senua in my place, and in worse conditions..." Liivi replied. "I'd rather die than let that happen."

"I know." Taldeer sighed, "That doesn't make it easier, though."

Liivi gazed into those sad eyes as the Farseer looked out into the stream of lights flashing outside the port window. He reached for her hand and placed it gently on his chest that she may feel the faint hammering within, "Feel that? It beats for you." He turned his head towards Senua, who was busying herself with the controls of the ship. The little girl had the knowledge, so she would have something to do in the long trip. "And for her."

"Then let it beat longer." Taldeer pleaded quietly, "Don't do that to us again. I can't bear to lose you, neither can she."

"I may not have that choice." Liivi replied with a shake of the head, "It is a promise I cannot keep."

"But try." Taldeer said as she nestled her head on his shoulder, "Just try..."

* * *

 _ **"I feel your guilt! I feel the crushing weight of your sins! You struggle too hard to hold them up! Let go, let it consume you and I promise that relief will soon follow!"**_

Every fight against an aspect of Chaos was like this, more than a mere struggle of arms or cross of blades and barbed taunts. It was a debate of ideals, symbols that held power more than weapons or martial prowess could ever muster. Horus was adept at it as much as he was with the spear in his hands, and so he prepared a counter-argument.

"Why should I seek relief, I a Primarch, when even the lowest of mankind's defenders refuse to back down in the face of Chaos?" Horus spun around and out of the Manreaper's reach as he threw back his answers. "As for guilt, I am human, and I do not seek perfection!" His next blow sundered Typhus' armor and opened a gash in its middle, exposing the horrid hives of the Destroyer daemon-flies within to all! Horus did not recoil at this sight, however, and blasted the foul foe with the cleansing fires of his weapon.

"Enough!" Horus declared, eager for an end to this prattle. "Let what is befouled be cleansed forever!" The eldritch energies burned out the flies as they sought escape, the flames hungrily devouring every trace of the hated enemy as Horus buried Soulrender further. Even as Typhus desperately attempted to curse Horus with such foul sorcery by the Hand of Darkness, the Lupercal merely slapped it aside as he willed his weapon to fully purge the Traveler out of existence. "Begone, spawn of the Warp!"

The remains erupted in a ball of flame, and the destroyed carcass of once-living terminator armor collapsed into an ashen heap. Upon the pile sat the Hand of Darkness, barely used since its theft from the Black Library. Typhus, thankfully, never realized its true power. The Ynnari, on the other hand, knew the risks involved but were satisfied in their decision to trust the Mon'kei on this endeavor.

Horus commanded the Nebula Gauntlet to hold the Hand of Darkness in the air, threw a casual glance at Yvraine, and motioned for her to approach. The Prophetess walked over the scorched, cleansed ground of the _Terminus Est_ bridge and offered up her hands, covered by a shimmering misty veil of unknown origins. Horus bestowed the artifact into her care, showing a great amount of trust in the gesture, and bid her to guard it better than the last.

"Our alliance is hereby concluded." Yvrain declared, "On behalf of the Ynnari, I thank you for your aid in the retrieval of this artifact."

"Concluded?" Horus asked, just as she turned to leave with her entourage of Ynnari warriors. "Oh. A pity, I was just about warming up to you."

Yvraine threw him a puzzled stare, "You hoped for anything more?"

"Oh I don't know." Horus shrugged, "Seeing human and eldar fighting alongside each other, against a common enemy. It leaves even the most hateful mind bewildered at the possibilities." He noted Captain Galio's uncomfortable twitch as he looked away.

"Yes, it certainly does..." Yvraine echoed, lost in thought at the idea.

"I do not seek to burden you with immediate requests." Horus reassured, "Perhaps one day in the near future, if any one of us is in dire need for aid, the other would be quick to answer?"

All Ynnari warriors present snapped their heads to the response of their Prophetess, and hers drew a host of surprised gasps, whispers and an approving smirk from Farseer Eldrad. " _If_ that day comes, it shall prove rewarding for both of us. Safe travels, Primarch."

"Likewise, Prophetess." Horus nodded.

Once the Ynnari took their leave and sped back into the Webway, the captains of the Luna Wolves Legion gathered to discuss with their Primarch about the where they stood in the current war. Half were confused whether they still should consider the eldar as enemies of mankind or potential allies to the Imperium, of whom they would give a wide berth if the latter proved true. Alas, Horus gave more questions than answers, for even he found it baffling to say the least.

"We must be wary of them, for the eldar have a lot of bad habits that they can never fully shake off." Horus replied, to most of which came from the bristling Captain Galio. Of all the captains under his command, he remained ever so stubborn at his take on the matter. He represented what the Imperium would do in the face of this decision, and so Horus let it pass. So far, Galio served him faithfully, albeit faithfully with a lot of reluctance on this particular issue.

He had no doubt Yvraine acted solely on what she felt was best for her people, which was what any good leader would do. He respected her for that, and so he gave her the benefit of the doubt. He knew she would act as honorably as the eldar nature would allow, and that was good enough. In the war against Chaos, mankind would need the aeldari people's help.

This was the start of something good, and he knew the Emperor would approve of how it turned out.

"Now that the Traveler is dead and the witches are gone, where should we head out next?" Alduin inquired.

"First, we go to Fenris to confirm the visions of the Rune Priests." Horus said as he commanded Admiral Maranda Goodwill to begin rallying the fleet for the jump. "Then we gather my brothers Guilliman and Corax for the journey into the Eye. Remember our mission and remember it well; Leman Russ is the key. Without him, we're flying blind in the Realm of Decay." He sat on the throne and motioned for Goodwill to initiate the departure sequence, "Admiral, take us out."

"At once, my lord."

* * *

They were all dead.

He was all alone, here in this godsforsaken realm of shadows, gnashing spirits and howling daemons. But where others saw themselves locked in with the foul denizens of the Warp, Leman Russ of Fenris saw it differently. The Eye had closed upon him more than what felt like ten thousand years ago, and they had no escape.

The daemons were locked in there with _him._

"RAAAAAHHHH!" The barbarian king leaped onto a greater daemon's back, a khornate servant judging by the reddish hue of its skin and the prickly spires sticking out of its back. Khorne had a fetish for spikes as much as Slaanesh, he observed. Today, if there was ever a day in the Warp, he fought as a single Primarch against a horde of the War God's most powerful lesser daemons- an insult to the Fenrisian's honor, but a welcome meal to his ever-hungry and insatiable savagery.

All that fighting drove him to the brink of insanity, and he had been fighting since the day he got here. The chaotic nature of the Warp kept him from tiring out, or perhaps it was the will of Khorne that kept his body from giving out after so long? Whatever the reason, Leman wasn't in it for the battles. He was close now, very close to his goal.

The Tree of Life, the boon that would give his father everlasting life and restore the Imperium with his return, was within reach!

That is, provided that he cuts his way past the guardians standing at the gates of the Foul One's Realm. But fixed was his eyes on it, like a starved wolf on a towering moose.

He would have it, one way or another. He just needed to push further, one swing at a time.

With this in mind, to keep his sanity intact, Leman bellowed out a thundering warcry and severed the greater daemon's head from its shoulders.

Life was good.

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	32. The Wolves Join Packs

**I think it's time to give the Space Wolves their place in the spotlight, yeah? Gonna wrap this book up quickly, so don't be surprised of the rather sped up succession of updates I'll do. Like honestly, I'm dying to just pour everything into the computer but my fingers just won't type that fast.**

 **Phew! This'll have to do.**

 _ **"Another Christmas present, so soon OmeganQueen? Oh, you're too kind!"**_

 **Yes, absolutely! The readers hunger, and I must deliver! Emperor shoot me dead if I don't!**

 **However, I must bid you to enjoy it while it lasts because I'm going to take a break from Warhammer writing for an indefinite amount of time ( need to write other fics and all that ). With all that said, and pardon the redundant word, read on dear reader!**

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The Space Wolves' fortress-monastery, known widely across the Imperium as The Fang and the _Aett_ by its inhabitants, was a massive citadel built atop the tallest mountain of Asaheim. This mountain was known by many names, including the Shoulder of the Allfather, and _volda hammarki_ , the World Spine. The Fang was the home base of the Space Wolves and extended into the surrounding mountain range as well as into orbit, drawing energy from the geothermic source of the planet's molten core.

The complex included huge, ground-based anti-ship orbital defence laser weapons concealed as nearby peaks, docks at the summit for the Space Wolves' Battle Barges and Strike Cruisers, numerous shrines to the Emperor in the guise of the Allfather along the lower slopes, and massive fusion and geothermal reactors deep underground.

Word was received from on high that the reformed Luna Wolves Legion was on its way to Fenris, and instructions from Horus Lupercal were made to gather the Rune Priests on the Fang that they may share their portents on the location of their lost primarch. These instructions were met with a bristling response from the lesser astartes, many of which who have not fought beside the Lupercal on Cadia and felt his call to be presumptuous and arrogant, and so they refused to obey his command.

This, however, did not sit well with their betters and the Fenrisian commanders did the only thing Fenrisian warriors could understand- by fighting.

Indeed, when the Primarch of the Luna Wolves arrived at the harbor of the Fang, he was surprised to see the warriors having at each other from deck to deck. Brawls erupted here and there, for as far as the eye could see. Fists collided with noses, breaking bone and cartilage and loosening teeth from gums. Blood sprinkled the frosted floors of the harbor as the new arrivals looked on in disapproval. Horus, on the other hand, beheld everything with amusement. No one was killed, nor any suffered too great an injury that it would impair their combat capabilities, but the bruises on the transhuman bodies and faces would not disappear for some time.

"Throne of Terra, they're like rabid dogs!" Thavos sneered.

"These are the Sons of Russ, did you expect anything different?" Horus replied, sighing to himself as he stepped off the transporter. "Come, let us search for their-

Horus ducked, interrupted in mid-sentence as a Space Wolf lunged at him with a bloodied fist, driven by an uncontrollable rage that he did not see it was the Primarch he was going for, then missed. Obviously, he realized his mistake too late and was seized by the fervor of battle that he did not care to back down. Horus merely hit him with the back of his hand and tossed him aside, "As I was saying, let us search for their commanders. I'm sure we can make some sense of this mess to get our message through."

"Coooome back here!" The downed marine slurred, still dazed by the Lupercal's blow. "I ain't done with you yet!"

Three of Horus' Honor Guard moved forward, knocking and shoving aside Space Wolves to make way for their gene-sire. "Move! Make way!", they thundered, bashing heads with the back end of their bolters when they passed unheeded. Horus bade them to go easy on the lot, reminding them that they were there to bridge the gap between their legion and the fractured Space Wolves chapters. They would not be spared their share of blows, but none must be impaired from the brawl, he would have need of them in the battles to come.

He later found what he came for within the walls of the Chapter House itself, where the Rune Priests of the Space Wolves had gathered in response to his request. It was a welcome surprise, given the stubborn nature of the Fenrisians that was so abundantly displayed by the lesser spacemarines having at each other outside. They were gathered at a large metal table in the center of a wide, rectangular chamber that was supposed to imitate the holdings of Fenrisian longhouses, something to evoke nostalgia and accommodate the Space Wolves' need for familiarity. The table was a holocron, upon which the entire charted map of the Imperium and its spaces beyond was displayed. After the visions faded, they jotted down all the records deemed necessary for a conclusion. So far, the portents remained as confusing as ever, the only good thing left was that the Lupercal's arrival spurred them ever on to accomplish such a daunting task.

"Greetings, Lord Horus of Terra." Njal Stormcaller, the senior priest and a legendary figure among his peers, greeted the Primarch of the Luna Wolves as he entered the chamber. "I apologize for the mess you've had to wade through. _Fekking_ recruits, haughty jackalwolves the lot of them! Don't worry, their commanders are dealing with their rebellious attitudes well enough as we speak."

"I've noticed." Horus replied, "How can I help?"

"You're our guest, we don't expect you to do anything save for standing aside while we busy ourselves in trying to find our lost gene-sire." Njal said with a shake of the head, "We're close now, so close..."

Thavos grunted, "With respect, my lord, these Rune Priests have had all the time they needed and they've gotten themselves nowhere. I'm afraid our trip was wasted."

"Patience, captain." Horus answered, "Good things come to those who wait. Let the Rune Priests do their work, we'll come back when they've got something." He bid the Rune Priests farewell and exited the building. Outside, the cold bite of the Fenrisian winds upon the Fang whipped the Luna Wolves as soon as they got through the door, scattering frost all over their armor and clogging exposed chinks. The brawls had ceased, for the Space Wolves had expended the last of their strength. They finished by gathering for the mead halls to drink their fill and soothe their boiling tempers in their drinks' cool caress.

* * *

Meanwhile,

Fifty-seven standard years to the day after his first attempt to conquer Armageddon, Ghazghkull Thraka led a second Ork WAAAGH! against the planet in 998.M41, unleashing the Third War for Armageddon. Commissar Yarrick and many of the heroes who had fought in defence of the planet before were called to battle again. The conflict ultimately ended in a stalemate, with neither side able to take full control of the world, though the cost in lives and treasure was immense. Although the Third War for Armageddon had ended with the Imperium winning a narrow victory, fighting still continued on the planet. Ghazghkull has left the world behind, pursued by Commissar Yarrick's Imperial Guard forces, accompanied by High Marshal Helbrecht with a full Black Templars Crusade at his back.

But now, spurred onwards by the visions of the ork gods Gork and Mork, Ghazghkull returned to finish what he had started. The Fourth War for Armageddon had begun, similarly to how it did for the past three. Thousands of crudely-shaped kroozas, battered by the the Warp from faulty gellar fields, emerged from the rifts outside the Armageddon Sub-sector. They overran the orbital defenses in mere days, flooding over what was bolstered from the small respite from the last war, and swarmed in for the hapless worlds that lay beyond. They descended from the skies in balls of fire, crashing down upon the still-recovering earth, and established their foothold upon each of the ten worlds of the cluster.

Such a brazen attack should have been expected, but alas, it was not.

The forces of Commissar Yarrick, and of the Black Templars, were too far away to intervene. And so began once more an era of bloodshed, set into motion even further by the involvement of the returned Primarch Roboute Guilliman. Sent from Terra by his Father the Emperor of Mankind, Guilliman came to the fringes of the Imperium to rid the threat of the Orks once and for all- by slaying each and every one of their greatest champions to batter their resolve into dust and drive them clear from the systems of mankind.

They had done this before so many times, most noteworthy was that of the Ullanor Campaign, a war that made the greenskins remember for all time that mankind was a force to be reckoned with. Horus had his chance, now it was his turn.

* * *

"Eh?"

The giant looked up, squinted his tiny eyes at the gray skies of Armageddon, and wondered if he was seeing things. It turned out to be more than his imagination, those fiery things weren't unicorns. "Ooh! Pretty colors!" And one was coming right for him.

The Bullgryn's commanding officer knew better and shouted as he ducked for cover, "Run, Gorrest! Run!"

"Ruuh?" O-kay!"

The lumbering oaf made an awkward shuffle as he moved out of the meteor's way, narrowly avoiding the burning debris scattered into the winds as it broke through the world's skies. Upon landing, its inhabitants pushed through the heated shell and bellowed forth their challenge, "WAAAAAGHHHH!" The greenskins made planetfall, literally, and resumed the thousand-year war of attrition waged by their prophet Thraka.

This time, however, the Imperial Guard were stronger than before. Having eradicated the threat the Despoiler posed to Cadia, Ursarkar Creed dispatched thousands if not millions of his veteran soldiers to assist in the many theaters of war that needed Cadia's elite the most, one of them being Armageddon. Among those that arrived via shuttle in the past day, Bone'ead Bullgryn Gorrest Fump and his loyal band of ogryn bulwarks came to bolster the beleaguered ranks of Armageddon. It was a paradise for the nitwitted giants, for the fields and streets of the ruined cities that became the battleground were littered with tank corpses. Much like the orks who saw these as a rich bounty of valuable scrap, the giants saw an opportunity to upgrade their standard-issue armaments and gear with the discarded parts of these skeletons.

Gorrest was just in the middle of issuing orders from 'up high' to his fellow ogryns when the attack of the orks happened, an event that brought even more excitement to the lumbering brutes, for their bones were itching for a good fight.

"Ogryns! This way!" Gorrest roared, raising his ceramite buckler to block the spray of faulty ork bullets that came streaking across the narrow street. More greenskins arrived from the heavy stone and steel rain, and the flood grew. The guardsmen, had they been from elsewhere, would've broken formation and turned tail at the sight of such a menace- but not the people of Armageddon.

Like Cadia, this was their home- theirs! No one, not a single one of those filthy xenos or heretics will take it from them as long as a single man is left standing. The planet will break before the guard will!

"Ogryns! Shield-wall!" Gorrest Fump cried, noticing that the ensuing hailstorm eradicated his guardsmen comrades' cover. At his command, the bulwarks formed up their Slabshields together like a palisade of thick steel. The orks saw this and increased the pace of their charge even further. They cared little for their own lives as they were cut down by lasgun fire, and slammed facefirst into the frey with their sharpened choppaz outstretched. The usual tactic was seen everywhere. Slugga boyz would soak up the guardsmen's fire, and then the Nobz would follow up with another devastating charge.

If that didn't work, a couple of Speedfreekz would ram into the formation with a pak'fulo'bombz to further sow mayhem into the puny humies.

This assault kept on and on, and on...until the guardsmen manpower would suffer to the point that their commanders would order the remaining lot to withdraw slowly into the safety of a less battered street. Inch by inch, they had to give ground, then the enraged ogryns would disobey orders and stubbornly remain where they were.

"Gorrest, you idiot! I said fall back!"

"Wut wuz dat, suh?" Gorrest grunted back, "Speak up! I'z can't hear yuh from all da noize!"

The other ogryns just laughed and promptly went back to bashing and shooting. When their Ripper guns would run out of ammunition from ceaseless hours of nonstop firing, they would use these weapons as makeshift clubs and would hammer away at nearby greenskins when the line would be broken. Many thought that the ogryns were purposely disobeying due to their selfless desire to give their lives for the guardsmen to retreat in safety, but the truth was rarely so.

Gorrest was simply enjoying the moments of battle, as well as his fellow ogryns, that they didn't want it to end. Nothing could compare to the sharp recoil of their gargantuan weapons or the loud staccato bursts of their Ripper guns. Nothing but death could stop them at this point, and so their commanding officer promptly just gave up trying and beat a hasty retreat into the next district.

One by one, the ogryns fell to the green tide, until only the Bone'ead himself was left to hold the line. "Rahuhhuhhuh!" Gorrest grinned, his throat rumbling with that awkward, childish laugh.

But then, just as his end neared its realization, the skies above the ruined city lit up once more. Descending upon clouds of fire, the Ultramarines drop-pods slammed down upon the amassed orks like thunderhead bombardments. Immediately after, the spacemarines burst free from their doors and leaped into the fray to stem the growing tide before it became unstoppable. Their guns reduced the ork masses from a raging torrent to a mere trickle. The momentum was lost, and the orks fell back to regroup.

Gorrest was found at the bottom of the pile of dead ork bodies, and when his rescuers came to free him, he accidentally knocked a spacemarine neophyte out with a single punch from his bloodied hand!

Realizing quicker than the average ogryn of his mistake, he apologized at gun-point and explained himself. "Ruuuuhhhh...So sorry, suhz. I'z did not mean ta hit 'im, thought he wuz a baddie. I'm Bone'ead Gorrest Fump of da Impuriel Gard 233rd Reg'munt."

"Brilliant, another abhuman." The Ultramarine sergeant remarked in disgust, "Waste this filth."

"Hold your fire!" Roboute Guilliman thundered, having arrived with the commanders of the Chapter to inspect the damage wrought by the invasion force. The spacemarines knelt from where they stood as the livid Primarch continued, "There will be plenty of our enemies to kill this day, and I will not tolerate executions absent reason!"

"Apologies, my Primarch." The sergeant replied.

"Report!"

"The walls of this city have been breached, my lord. Scores of Imperial Guardsmen, collateral, and orks have clogged the streets to make it impossible for vehicles to cut through. Our Rhinos are beginning to push them out to clear the path as we speak!"

Roboute nodded. His work here would be long and hard, an expected dilemma only he was fit to solve for the Imperium. "Send the bulk of our fighting force to bolster the Imperial Guard until reinforcements arrive. Commissar Yarrick and the Black Templars are being held up in orbit at the moment, having met the fleets of the tyrant Ghazghkull in space. Our main objective is to secure the gates and retake the outlaying districts so that supplies would resume their flow. Carry on."

"At once, my lord."

"And as for you." Roboute Guilliman turned to Gorrest Fump, "I want you to run back and report to your superiors with my message. Armageddon will stand as Cadia did, you are not alone."

"Yes suh!" The ogryn saluted and turned heel to walk the long road back to base. He stopped, realizing he was heading towards the ork encampment and changed direction. "Uhhh...that way!"

Roboute shook his head at this and went his own way.

* * *

"Ah, if isn't the Wolf of Terra!" A chorus of cheers welcomed Horus Lupercal and his captains as they entered the drinking den.

"Slayer of Abaddon, this one!" The place was not reserved for neophytes, only the battle-hardened, grizzled war veterans drank and dined in that longhouse. Many of them were gathered from all corners of the Imperium to hear the words of the Rune Priests, many of them were eager to begin their own odysseys into the Eye to search for their missing Primarch.

"Horus Lupercal!" The Great Wolf Lord Logan Grimnar roared, "Close the door! You're bringing in the cold with you!" To have the Hero of Cadia in their presence was a great honor, and one that the Space Wolves took better than the ones that brawled on the Fang's decks earlier.

"What are we doing here?" Thavos grumbled.

"Gathering allies the easiest way possible." Graves replied. The marksman captain took off his helm and allowed the warmth of the roaring fire pit in the middle of the squared formation of longtables to bathe his cold skin. The winds of Fenris had a way to bypass the heating units in his armor, and he didn't like that one bit. "Knock that attitude off, you walk among fellow brutes."

"Maintain a respectable silence." Horus ordered sternly, "Only I shall speak this night, understood?"

"Behold, brothers, the Redeemed Primarch! Look upon this model of selflessness, for even through the hatred and doubt of the masses he had reforged his honor and washed away the sins of the Heresy!" Grimnar announced sincerely, offering a large goblet for the Primarch to partake of. "Accept this goblet, I pray, and know that you stand as a friend of the Sons of Russ!"

"I thank you for this, and I am humbled by your acceptance." Horus smiled as he took the goblet away from the Great Wolf's grasp. "Yet that battle for Cadia was not won by mine hand alone. You all were there, we were all heroes that day. We all share the glory of Abaddon's defeat."

"Bah!" Logan Grimnar waved his hand, and the Space Wolves swayed with laughter. "Humility has no place in this longhouse! Boast of your exploits, I implore you, that the Allfather may revel in your stories as we!"

"Hear hear!"

 **}!{**


	33. The Hunt Begins

**Almost forgot about this OC, I hope you guys can still remember that one chapter. Just in case, for reference, it's connected to Chapter 22 " The Enemy of My Enemy ".**

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 **++ Directive Code 108-AE108/**  
 **Waking Pilot/ ++**

"What the hell?" Maxwell gasped, suddenly torn out of his slumber by that same cool, alien influence that robbed him of his consciousness in the first place. Commands were sent to the Throne Mechanicum, but were instantaneously denied. He was trapped, a prisoner within his own Knight Freeblade. "Release me at once, xeno scum!"

 **++ I cannot allow that...I do not wish you any harm, pilot, but I cannot have you interfering with my quest to save this sector ++**

"Save it?" Maxwell thundered, "What trickery is this?"

 **++ There is no trickery. Only truth. You remember those machines you've encountered around my transporter's crash site? ++**

Maxwell remained silent.

 **++ They are but a splinter of the whole, sent by the Olamic Quietude to ensure this sector's demise. I know you're not familiar with them, but I have no time to explain everything. Simply put, they are the enemy here, not me. I and my comrades arrived to this sector to prevent their plans from coming to fruition, but we have failed. It is only through a preferable happenstance that you arrived close to my crash site before they could finish me off ++**

"I knew I should've stayed away." Maxwell muttered.

 **++ I'm not finished. You see, their plan does not involve a mere brazen assault like you're probably imagining at the moment. They've stirred the psionic anomalies in this sector, drawing the attention of the alien horde you designate as the Tyranids ++**

At this revelation, though taken with a grain of salt, Maxwell felt alarmed. He had faced war bands of the hated foe in brief skirmishes in the past, and there was something about them that really turned his stomach in. He never wished to see them again, and now it seemed like he was getting the opposite of that wish. If they were here now, like this xeno abomination intelligence claimed, the entire sector was doomed.

There was not an Imperial defense fleet for lightyears away.

"And why does this concern you?" Maxwell asked suspiciously.

 **++ I am not of the Olamic Quietude. Though my flesh is gone and my form alien, I am still human like you ++**

"You would dare to make such a claim?"

 **++ I would, Maxwell Raritan of House Salderas. I am called Isaea of the Visiro. Unlike the Olamic Quietude who have fully embraced the doctrines of the machine heart, we the Visiro maintain our human roots. That is why they are dedicated to eradicating your Imperium, and we are dedicated to preserving it ++**

"How do you know me?" The pilot asked.

 **++ You mumbled in your sleep. I may not be a mind-reader, but I have good ears. You still don't trust me, that is expected, but I'm willing to go to great lengths to prove my intentions as pure. Oh, and brace yourself, we're about to enter a battle ++**

"What!?"

Maxwell didn't brace himself in time, and he soon found himself shaken violently as the _Braveheart_ collided with something as large as itself. The shroud covering the view of the pilot lifted, and revealed the devastated land before him. Flames danced in the ground as birth pods broke through the planet's atmosphere and collided with the earth, unleashing hordes upon hordes of chitin-covered horrors of Hivefleet Numosa.

Before him stood a towering behemoth, a monstrously large Tyranid bioform intended to counter the greatest war engines deployed by the other intelligent species of the Milky Way Galaxy. Towering above the battlefields, leading the swarms of lesser Tyranid creatures, stand the vast forms of the Bio-Titans. These massive biomechanical war-machines stalk the warzones of the Imperium spitting death and destruction, cutting down their foes with potent bio-weapons.

 **++ Stay calm, let me handle this ++**

"NO!" Maxwell cried, "Give me control! You're going to kill us both!"

It wasn't that he wanted the AI to survive this battle. In fact, the pilot wished a number of horrifying fates upon the abomination. It was simply because his life was now tied to it, and such an ignoble end was something he wished to avoid entirely. Seizing control of his Freeblade would improve the odds of survival, even though this world was condemned to the maw of the Tyranids.

The beast crouched low and snarled at the Freeblade, bombarding it with a steady hail of pyro-acid from the glands stemming from its gaping maw. The Freeblade's shields soaked up the attack, and the Visiro AI commanded it to move back and charge up Deathsinger. The chain-grinder revved up and launched itself across the Tyranid titan's neck, tearing off a large amount of hard chitinous armor in a single strike!

"Why are you putting us in this spot?" Maxwell said, "It's a killzone, too open and indefensible!"

 **++ I've launched a distress signal for a pickup ship to take us offworld. If you think I've chosen a poor spot, I'll have you know there are worse spots out there than here ++**

The ground beneath them shook as the Tyranid titan swept in for another go, only to be met with equal force by the Freeblade as the AI commanded the ancient war machine to tackle it along the midriff and knock it back with a solid hit to the torso. The titan did not let up at this, and with a swivel of its elongated neck it chomped down hard on the _Braveheart's_ chestpiece.

The HUD blared orange, warning the pilot that the Freeblade took some internal damage from the attack. Maxwell winced at the surge of information flooding his mind as his mount screamed for him to return to command, but knew he was powerless to do so. This angered and frustrated him to no end, and he in turn kept on with his demands to retake the reins from the AI.

Deathsinger roared again, its carbide teeth tore at the beast's back as the Freeblade dragged the massive chainsword down upon its enemy. Flesh and green blood shot out in heavy torrents, and the Tyranid squealed in agony as the blades sawed deeper and deeper until they at last severed through its spine. Doomsayer was plunged into its belly, and with the AI's command it fired two shots that busted a massive gash across the alien's middle.

More blood, more gore.

The beast was laid at last to rest, and the Freeblade stood above the amassing Tyranid lessers as they moved to overwhelm what their titan could not kill outright.

"They will overcome us!" Maxwell cried.

 **++ Peace, pilot. I will not allow you to die before your time ++**

"Only the Emperor will dictate my death day, not you!" Maxwell spat. "And I will not suffer the Abomination Intelligence's influence-

 **++ Very well, it seems that you need time away from this source of stress. Worry not, I know just the thing ++**

"Don't you dare-

Maxwell felt it again, that relaxing call to sleep. With his mind hooked up to the cables of the Throne Mechanicum, there was no way to escape the influence of the AI. At the very least, the AI kept its promise and did not kill him. Instead, it chose to avoid further confrontations between them at the time and knocked him out.

Freed for now from the rantings of the furious pilot, the Visiro AI took full control of the Freeblade and launched attacks left and right. Minutes passed, the horde of Tyranids grew ever larger and threatened to swallow the machine whole as they did the planet it stood upon. Before they could succeed, however, the ship broke through the atmosphere of the doomed world and hovered above the Freeblade's battered form. Iron tendrils swooped down and hooked onto the armpits of the titan, then carried it offworld as the ship sped away to escape the clutches of the Hivefleet Numosa.

Isaea spoke to the unconscious form of the pilot nestled safely within the titan's shell.

 **++ Sleep, pilot. Soon, you will awaken and the danger to this sector will pass. Your people, my people, shall prosper as they are meant to be ++**

* * *

Fenrisians were hard drinkers, that was no secret. It takes a lot to topple a spacemarine, but somehow the liquor of that frozen death-world always manages to render many a Space Wolf tipsy after half a dozen tankards of the noxious substance. With drink in hand, the overall atmosphere turned rowdier by the second as the Space Wolves traded stories, bellowed challenges and ensued brawls across every table.

Only the Old Wolf Lord Logan Grimnar kept a level and sober head, as did the Primarch Horus Lupercal. They had to, for there was much to talk about that could go without the influence of ale to ruin the evening. After reluctantly regaling the Wolf Lord with his own take on the Battle for Cadia, Horus diverted the conversation towards the matter at hand and the whole purpose of his visit to Fenris- the revelations on the whereabouts of his brother, the Primarch Leman Russ.

"I didn't come all this way for a feast, Lord Grimnar."

"Oh? I suspected as much." The ancient warrior replied.

"It is not the day for celebration, for our enemies still plague the borders of the Imperium." Horus said, "I will feast only on the day that they all lie at my feet dead."

"That day is never bound to come." Lord Grimnar said as he set down his goblet, "A word of advice before we proceed; Take what joys come your way, no matter how little they seem. There will always be an enemy for us. Remember this, and you will never grow weary of this war." After he let these words sink in, the Old Wolf leaned back and asked. "Now, what was it you came for?"

"I've requested the gathering of the Space Wolves because I would have need of their strength when I travel through the Eye of Terror." Horus revealed his plan.

"Ah, it was you then? And all this time I thought it was Stormcaller's idea. For what purpose?"

"I am on a mission to save my brother Leman Russ and return him to his rightful place as Primarch of the Space Wolves." At his words, the old patriarch's eyes lit up. "Soon, very soon, the Rune Priests will report their findings and give us his exact location within the Warp."

Logan Grimnar snuffed out the flame of hope as soon as it flared, "An old attempt. The Sea of Souls is ever-shifting, ever changing! I have been on many Hunts for our lost Primarch, and each effort to retrieve him has ended in failure! How do you expect to be any different?"

"Because the Eye has shrunk! The storms have ceased, and we can plot a direct course without having to suffer the battering waves of the Empyrean as we have before!" Horus replied, "I have been very busy these months away, I and my allies have done our research. All the astropaths say the same thing- this is our best chance to wrest Leman out of the Warp."

"My lord, Horus!" The thundering voice of the Stormcaller bellowed above the din of the drinking hall, "It is done! We have what you require!"

Horus nodded and turned back to Logan Grimnar, "But that is not the sole purpose of my mission, Old Wolf. Aside from rescuing Leman, I am heading over to the Warp on a task directly borne from the lips of my father, the Emperor. Leman has been searching for a way to resurrect my father's ailing form, but never found one for he knew not what to seek."

"But he did. What was it called again? The Tree of Life? A font of uncorrupted psychic energy, one that I doubt exists today even in that hellish place."

"It is not just any font of energy, my lord. It is an Eldar Goddess, one of the few remaining deities of the aeldari pantheon. She lies trapped under the power of the Dark God Nurgle."

At this revelation, Logan Grimnar went slack-jawed for a second and blurted out his confusion. "What?"

"I know your thoughts, and at first hearing them rendered me as confused as you are now. But this is the only way for the Emperor to return, that reason alone was enough to remove all doubts in my mind. Revealing it to you, I do hope it does as well."

Logan Grimnar stood up and tightened his lips, "It is an order from the Emperor, and I have no cause to think otherwise. The Allfather's wisdom is beyond me, and if he sends you to gather us for his tasks, then we shall rally to you." He turned to address the drunken rabble, leaving Horus bewildered at how easy it was to convince the Space Wolves to join him in his mission. Truly, their duty to the Emperor mattered more than their hate for the xenos and the fear of the Dark God's realm.

"Brothers! Listen to me!" Grimnar roared, "I have news that will lift up the hearts of every fenrisian in this room! The time of waiting is over! The Primarch, our beloved leader Leman Russ has been found!" His sentence was drowned out by a chorus of yips, yowls, and a cacophony of incoherent cheers from all who listened. The Old Wolf slammed a fist down on the table to call for quiet, effectively breaking the hardwood furniture and launching plates and tankards to clutter the floor. "And even better! The Primarch Horus Lupercal bears a message of hope for not only us, but for the Imperium as well! The Emperor has found a solution, to allow his return to mankind!"

This announcement was met with an unexpected stunned silence, and there were looks exchanged amongst the rabble.

"What the _fekk_ did he just say?"

"The Allfather's coming back, I think."

"Now that's a Great Hunt I'm going on!"

"Shut it, let him speak!"

Logan Grimnar pointed at Horus, "Lord Horus needs our help to retrieve the Primarch Leman Russ, and we shall give it to him! Furthermore, we will assist in all his endeavors to retrieve the artifact for the Emperor's resurrection! We will leave immediately with all due haste, so grab a tankard and drink on your way out! WE RIDE FOR THE RUSS!"

The Space Wolves cheered once and scrambled for the kegs. They downed their last drinks and raced for the doors, nearly trampling on the Rune Priests as they stood in the way of the herd of stampeding warriors and leaped to the side to avoid an embarrassing death.

"You failed to tell them it was an Eldar Goddess they were retrieving." Horus said later.

"I'll break the news to them in time. It's best to get them excited now than face their wrathful outbursts at the same time." Grimnar replied, "Once they're onboard their ships, that's the opportune moment for me to reveal the true nature of our mission. Trust me, it's more amusing that way. Now, Stormcaller, where is our missing Primarch?"

 **}!{**

 **Happy New Year, boys and girls! I do hope you've enjoyed the holidays, I know I did! Have a nice start to 2019!**


	34. A Parting Gift

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Horus sat alone in the reclusiam of the Divine Fury flagship, in hopes of finding a moment of peace before the arduous trek through the Warp began. Quiet was not peace, in fact it set a restlessness within him that he could not rid himself of. And so he plunged himself into whatever encouraging thoughts his mind could come up with. The burden of his tasks was heavy, he was grateful for so many allies who had come to help him shoulder it.

The Space Wolves, who had every reason to hate him for the turbulent years wrought by his mistakes, now joined banners with his crusade. There was the promise of their Primarch returning at last after thousands of years of absence, but their forgiveness had humbled him. Fenrisians were proud, and he would even go as far as to call them too arrogant to let room for forgiveness, but they have proven him wrong. For that reason alone, he would strive to fulfill his promise to them and bring their legion back to glory. Provided that they conclude their tantrums upon hearing their Chapter-Master's revelation of the true nature of their mission, one preferably on a good note.

There were also the sub-chapters, all hailing from shattered legions born in the latter years of the Imperium's scouring. They looked up to him as the epitome of redemption, for they too had sins to atone for. Horus did not care for the details nor did he judge them, he had no reason to. He would lead them, to have them live to see a brighter future in this grim universe.

And who could forget his very own legion, the Luna Wolves- the sons of Horus?

They had come so far, sacrificed their own mortality in order to take up the mantle as protectors of mankind. The Primarchs never had that choice, for they were created from birth to become leaders in their own right. Perhaps this was why the others despised the Emperor, for they felt they were robbed of the chance of free will. Perhaps it was, perhaps not. One thing was for sure, Horus claimed that purpose and that was why the only way Chaos took hold of him was through possession- for his love for the Imperium burned as bright as the Emperor himself.

Love...

Horus thought often of Celestine, the Angel of Cadia and Saint of the Emperor. She came to be in a manner not unlike the Primarchs themselves. She died, then was reborn through the power of the Golden Throne. Yet, she did not refuse the call- and instead embraced it fully. He admired her convictions, her zeal and her undying loyalty to mankind. He hoped and prayed she would never have to go through what he did, to suffer the agonizing shame of betraying his purpose.

She was, in many ways, better than he.

"My lord, forgive the intrusion..."

Horus' eyes snapped open, the peace he had longed for evaporated as soon as it appeared. He sighed, "Yes, Alduin?"

The Master of the Signal stepped into the hallowed chamber, "There is a message for you from the Eldar Prophetess Yvraine...she stands with a host of aeldari warships hidden within this sector, and she requests your presence for a meeting. She says it involves our quest to retrieve the Eldar goddess Isha."

She knew many things, dangerous things.

Horus smirked, knowing Yvraine's hesitance to appear outright within fenrisian space. As soon as the Space Wolves noticed her fleet they would undoubtedly open fire. How she arrived unscathed through Imperial territory just to gain an audience with him was flattering, and no less impressive. "Her efforts to gain my attention should be rewarded. However, did she say anything else?"

"None, my lord."

Horus rose up and went straight for the hangars, leaving the crusade in the capable hands of Maranda Goodwill, saying. "If our allies inquire of the reason of my absence, tell them I have gone to request additional support for the cause." That way, he offered adequate enough information without betraying anyone's trust and keeping another war from starting. "I won't be long, Admiral."

"Emperor protect you, milord."

"You're sure it is the one we seek?"

Yvraine threw Prince Yriel a sidewards glance, "I am not. That is why this meeting offers an opportunity for me to make certain of my speculations. Now, try not to embarrass yourself before the Mon'kei. He arrives within the hour."

Prince Yriel was an Eldar Autarch of the Iyanden Craftworld, High Admiral of the Iyanden fleet, High Admiral of the Eldritch Raiders Corsair fleet, and is widely considered to be the greatest Eldar naval genius to have ever lived. When Iyanden was facing destruction at the hands of Hive Fleet Kraken, Yriel returned from self-imposed exile with his Eldritch Raiders to save the Craftworld from becoming totally extinct. After being slain by a Greater Daemon of Nurgle, Yriel was resurrected by Yvraine through the power of the very Cronesword he wielded presently and in return offered himself as a servant of the Ynnari.

The Croneswords were five swords that according to the Eldar's legends, were carved from the finger bones of one of the Goddess Morai-Heg's hands. It was stated that the Crone Goddess of Souls and Fate lost the hand, when she sought the wisdom that flowed through her own veins and tricked the God Khaine, into cutting it off. When Khaine did so, Morai-Heg drank her own blood and assimilated the knowledge it contained, while the God Vaul gathered the Crone Goddess' discarded hand and carved its five fingers into the immensely powerful Croneswords. According to the legends, if the Croneswords of Morai-Heg are placed into the right hands, they will give their wielders dominion over life and death; while Yvraine, the Emissary of Ynnead, believes that possessing all five Croneswords will give her enough power to fully awaken her God. So far, she has found four of the five Croneswords, of which each of her allies now wielded in her name.

There was Kha-vir, the sword of Yvraine, which turns its victims into ash.

Asu-var, a weapon that absorbs its foes life essence. Now wielded by the Visarch.

Vilith-zhar, the largest and most powerful blade in her collection, was a shapeshifting blade forged in burning souls. Currently, the blade rests aboard her flagship, for none seemed to be able to wield a weapon that proved so cumbersome.

Then there was the Spear of Twilight, the weapon that the Prince Yriel now held.

She had yet to find the fifth Cronesword, a task that proved to be more difficult than the other four put together. Yvraine had her suspicions of that weapon in Horus' hands, the Soulrender. The very blade of it pulsated with an essence that transcends mortal origins. She felt it call to her in that short time she spent with the Mon'kei Primarch, and would find out soon enough if it was what she sought after all these years.

A single Thunderhawk, carrying the Primarch himself and a retinue of his finest warriors, appeared on the fleet's scanners. Yvraine had to smile at the apparent gesture of faith on Horus Lupercal's part, though that habitual feeling of condescension of the Mon'kei trusting the Aeldari nagged at the corners of her mind. She snuffed such thoughts away, knowing full well that Horus earned it better than any Mon'kei had in history.

"He marches on a fool's errand." The Visarch whispered, "No one who attempted to save Isha succeeded. How can a Mon'kei Primarch, even the greatest of them all, hope to be any different?"

"He might just surprise you." Yvraine answered, "It's not everyday you hear of a dead man coming back to life, and accomplish these many feats in a short amount of time."

The Primarch stood before the leaders of the Ynnari at the helm of six primaris Luna Wolves spacemarines. His men were noticeably more relaxed than before, a sure sign that the Luna Wolves understood their Primarch's take on their aeldari allies. His helm was removed, resting at his side as his hand held it against his hip. He had weathered the times well, remaining unchanged since the day she saw him in her visions. "Greetings, Prophetess."

"Welcome, Primarch Horus Lupercal. You're probably wondering why I have called for this meeting, now behold your answer." Yvraine beckoned for her servants to usher in the artifact that would prove to be the most important element in Horus' quest. The Emissary of the Ynnari opened the gilded chest and brought out a beautiful rose whose petals glistened pink with life, and whose thorns strangely remained absent on its stem. This, she carried towards the Primarch and laid it upon his open palm.

"A flower?" Horus' brow arched, unsure at the meaning of the gift. The corner of his lip twitched into an amused smirk. "I...I'm flattered."

Yvraine was taken aback for a moment, then leaned her head back and laughed. It was a mirthful sound, not the forced kind, and her entourage looked up at her in surprise. They had never heard her utter such a sound, having been used to her grim and serious demeanor. "Oh no, that is not the gift's purpose at all! This is the Rose of Isha said to grow where the Eldar Goddess Isha walked in the mortal realm. It will allow you and your allies safe passage through the Realms of Nurgle in order for you to reach your prize."

"Oh." Horus beheld the artifact, awed by the psychic energies that emanated from it. He then regarded Yvraine curiously and asked, "You do not object to the nature of my quest? Isha is your goddess, one of the few remaining of her kind since the Fall of the Eldar Empire...surely you mean to seize whatever chance you have to bring her to safety?"

"We do not object, Primarch. Believe me, I have gone through these same thoughts more times than I care to count, and I have come to the best decision. We, the Eldar, have doomed our gods to the Warp when we birthed She-Who-Thirsts into existence. We do not deserve the chance at redemption. The visions have guided me to the best outcome, I know she will be in better hands."

"Then I thank you." Horus replied, "But you are wrong to think your hour of redemption has passed. Come with me, help us save Isha and together we can-

"I must respectfully refuse." Yvraine said firmly, "The Rose will be help enough, we the Ynnari have our own purpose here." The Ynnari had another god to save, and Yvraine meant what she said that Isha was in good hands. The Emperor of Mankind would put her to good use, and with his return the Imperium would be restored. With humanity resurrected, the aeldari would rise along with them. That was the vision.

And so she must part.

"I see." Horus did not press the issue further, "If there's nothing else, I and my men will take our leave."

"Wait, Primarch." Yvraine said, "There is one more thing."

The Prophetess approached him and pointed at his spear, "May I see that weapon?"

Horus regarded her again with a quizzical expression, but did as she asked. The Soulrender gleamed in the light of the fenrisian sun, and Yvraine ran her hands over the shaft and upon the clear blade above. The godspear shone once more, revealing its true self for the first time to all who witnessed. The spear morphed and changed, shedding the Imperial covering that the Emperor had made, and became the Cronesword that Yvraine sought after! The blade was smaller than she expected, owing to the fact that the original was shattered in the battle against Abaddon, but nevertheless existed.

"What have you done?" Horus asked.

Yvraine wasn't listening, "The finger of Morai-Heg! The Cronesword has been found at last!" She turned to Horus, her excitement evident in her gaze. "You have no idea what you've held all this time, Primarch." This event changes everything, with all five Croneswords the Ynnari would be able to fulfill their purpose and awaken the slumbering god Ynnead!

"I need that spear back." Horus said firmly. "Without it, I am sorely lacking in the battles to come."

Yvraine was sorely tempted to whisk the spear away, content that she had left the Rose with the Primarch. Now they had both what they wanted, but if she did as she planned at the moment she would risk making an enemy of the Lupercal- something she knew would prove to be a most foolish choice indeed. She would be no better than her stagnating brethren, and so Yvraine chose to take the higher path.

She returned the spear, restoring its previous form as she handed it back to Horus. "As you wish..."

The Ynnari council looked on with seething expressions as the Luna Wolves, and their Primarch, boarded their Thunderhawk and left the fleet behind them. They had given much, and returned with nothing.

"You should not have returned it, without it we will never fulfill our mission!" Prince Yriel whispered harshly.

"I am well aware." Yvraine answered, mind still reeling from the realization of her actions. "It will be ours in due time, just not today."

"What do you suppose that was about, my Primarch?"

"Something consequential, I suppose. No matter, we have what we need now. If Yvraine wishes to discuss the exchange of the Soulrender from me she would have to wait until I return to realspace with both my brother Leman Russ and the Goddess Isha." Horus answered, keeping a tighter grip on his spear after that strange parting with the Ynnari Prophetess. He lifted up the Rose and whispered to it, "Now you, perform as promised." The Rose, in turn, responded as if it could hear the Primarch's words and cast a beautiful shower of glittering lights that spread from the bridge of the Divine Fury and into the surrounding ships of the Lupercalian Crusade.

"Admiral, initiate jump sequence and direct it at the coordinates I tell you." Horus said, then turning to broadcast a fleet-wide vox-message. "Brothers and sisters in arms, today we make the bold trek through the Realm of Chaos to retrieve the only means we shall ever have to resurrect my father. Make no mistake, this is another kind of war entirely, for we now will fight the forces of evil on their own territory. Be vigilant, be wary, and above all- trust in the Emperor's will."

"For the Imperium of Man!" The Space Wolves howled.

"The Emperor Protects!" The Sub-Chapters replied.

"Onward." Horus commanded, and the rifts opened before the voidships to send them on their way. As soon as they entered the Warp, the Lupercalian Crusade was immediately met with the strong resistance of the becalming straits of despair, stirred to life by the collective psychic influences of every living being in the galaxy.

Horus glared through the shields of the bridge, and his lips tightened into a single, thin line.

They were committed now, the only way through it all was forward. And so forward did they go.

 **}!{**


	35. Siege of the Plague Lands

**Yesssss...cliffhangers...my fanfic's full of them- mwahahahaha!**

 **I promise it will be the last for this book, gonna give myself a congratulatory clap here because we've reached another milestone, and pretty much to end of the Lupercalian Redemption phase. And for that, I thank my dearest readers for their continued support ( especially to those who took the time to share some of their awesome ideas to make this fic easier to comprehend )**

 **Also, I'm shivering in disgust over what I've written here ( still am, yeeeks ) but it is a necessity. After all, imagining the most disgusting things on earth is but a mere glimpse of the glorio- sorry, almost wrote something heretical there- foulness of Nurgle's Realm. Totally worth it.**

 **}!{**

His arms were hot with fresh ichor, his own blood pounded hard in his ears that it blotted out the din of the approaching horde and the dying screams of the slain. The edges of his vision blurred, but the middle was one of focus. In these moments, it was not fear that guided him.

No, only a heightened sense of things.

Leman Russ snarled, hit mouth hung agape, allowing the frothing spit to dribble down his blood-red beard. "MOOAAAARRRRHHH!" The incoherent bellow rang above the noise of battle, "COME AT ME, YOU _FEKKING_ BASTARDS OF THE WARP!" His axe cleaved left and right, and he gained another mile as he used the mountain of bodies in front of him as stepping stones. He could smell the overpowering stench of decay, the scent of a billion rotting corpses in the winds of that hellish place.

He was close, very close.

Suddenly, the very ground he now stood upon shifted and moved! Leman leaped off the ledge and turned heel to investigate, finding to his surprise that the thing he and all those daemons treaded on was in fact a gargantuan titan of half-rotted flesh and metal!

The domain of Nurgle in the Realm of Chaos was not a barren wasteland, but a macabre paradise, a near-infinite jungle of death and pestilence. Tended by the Lord of Decay, this unwholesome realm was home to every pox and affliction imaginable. Twisted, rotten boughs entangled with grasping vines covered the moldering ground, entwining like broken fingers. Fungi, both plain and spectacular, broke through the squelching mulch of the forest floor, puffing out clouds of choking spores. And those 'fortunate' enough to earn the Lord of Decay's favor were tasked to defend his precious paradise.

The Titan was just one of them.

Leman stood undaunted, and he prepared himself to make the blind leap back into the fray. The Titan was no major obstacle to him, only a wall that needed to be broken down. But as he took the first three steps, a string of surgically detonated warheads tore the ancient guardian apart and sent burning debris flying in all directions! Leman halted, confused as to where the attacks came from.

He saw them, a collection of Imperial vessels breaking through the skies of the Rotted Realm. Their massive guns bombarded the cursed earth, and tore apart the gates of the Plague Lord's Garden. Like him, they were now trapped in this damned place, unable to wriggle free unless to carve their way out. Leman waited from below, watched as the hangars opened like hives, spewing forth Thunderhawks and drop-pods that carried his astartes reinforcements.

Much time had passed since his departure, he knew this to be so. Just how much had changed since then?

The Thunderhawks descended and touched the cursed earth, then the hatches opened. The spacemarines within marched out with bolters drawn. They were Luna Wolves!

Leman Russ gripped his axes firmly and bellowed out a mad roar, "TRAITORS! YOU WILL NOT HAVE ME!" He charged forward and swung wildly, obviously exhausted after a millennia of nonstop fighting. He missed, and the Luna Wolves parted to give him a wide berth. He seriously injured many who were unfortunate enough to stand in his path, but he killed none. "COME ON! YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?! YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO PAY FOR IT IN BLOOD!" Leman laughed, then froze as a towering figure loomed over his battered and spent form.

It was Horus!

"What the _fekk_ is this? An illusion? Some trick Magnus has played upon my mind?" Leman wondered out loud, "Impossible, you're dead!"

"I was dead, true enough." The Primarch of the Luna Wolves replied, motioning for his sons to move back to give the confused Leman Russ ample space. "But this is no illusion, brother, I-

"Good." Leman snarled, feeling his strength returning as his anger surged through his veins. Whatever vile magic had brought Horus back, the mastermind behind the Imperium's ruination, it would not save him from Leman's wrath. And so the Space Wolves' gene-sire rose up and struck out at his brother, completely unaware of the Space Wolves presently arriving on site to clarify and explain the events that transpired over the years. He didn't care, for the bloodlust in him demanded to be sated.

On Horus' part, however, he was not about to let himself be pummeled to the ground like the time Guilliman vented out his own frustrations upon him. No, for this time there were larger things at stake. He would have to explain to Leman Russ in the manner that he would be in a mind to listen- and that was through tiring him out through combat. And so Horus engaged Leman in his highly coveted duel.

"So you've finally decided to finish the job yourself, eh?" Leman challenged, "Tired of letting Angron and Magnus do your dirty work for you?! Sully your hands now, Warmaster! Feel the true spirit of battle, and the desperation that comes with it!"

"You don't usually talk this much during a battle." Horus mused as he parried his brother's wild strikes with ease, "Go on then, say everything you've wanted to say."

Leman didn't answer, he moved instead to shut him up.

"Now's a good chance as any." Horus beckoned, watching the arms on Leman grow slack with the weight of exhausted muscles. Horus lowered his guard, "Will you let me finish now?"

While the two Primarchs dueled in that cesspit, Chapter-Master Logan Grimnar and his battle-brothers arrived at the scene and rushed forward to restrain their maddened Primarch. "My lord, stop this!" Leman struggled, still feeling the burning agony of his hatred roiling within his heart, and managed to shake off free from the iron grip of his sons. But gradually, Leman's mind registered the friendly voice of his trusted advisers. Logan, especially.

"You too, Logan?" His voice broke. Had Horus' influence tainted even the best of his sons?

"No, my lord! We are not traitors!" Logan defended, his face inches from his gene-sire's face as he held him with all his strength. "Calm yourself and listen to reason! Things here are not as they seem!"

Grief overwhelmed Leman, and he felt himself weaken in the grip of his sons. "Speak plainly then!" He screamed, "What is the meaning of this, but of more trickery!? More lies and deceit?!"

Logan struck the Primarch across the cheek to force him back to a more sensible mind, and he bellowed into his gene-sire's face. "Listen, you mad fool! The longer we prattle here trying to drive sense into your addled mind, the more dangerous it becomes for us and all the legions who have come to save you! Primarch Horus is no longer your enemy! The Emperor ordained it so, and he has redeemed himself in the time you abandoned us to gallivant into the Warp!"

At a loss for words, Leman looked about him in desperation. His eyes took in the many new faces, hidden beneath the visages of Imperial helms. There stood not a single tainted one among them, he realized too late, and it proved Logan Grimnar's words true.

What was going on?

"And you!" Leman cried out at Horus, "What is your involvement in all this?!"

"I am here to save our father, Leman." Horus answered. "I am here to save all of us."

* * *

She felt it, faint but there, like the rustling of the grass and shaky summer leaves in the wind. Isha lifted her tired eyes to the dim light of her prison, watching the diseased bulk of her captor hunched over his cauldron, cooking up another foul concoction for her to drink. She felt the presence of her savior, the god of mankind, as he drew near.

He was weakening, fading, she knew this as much as he did. But the hour for their revivification was at hand. "Soon, very soon..."

 _ **"Eh? What was that, my dear?"**_ Nurgle rumbled, _**"Sorry, I was busy handling something...for it seems that we have guests..."**_

"Soon, I will be free..."

* * *

Leman Russ listened intently to Horus' tale, and his anger evaporated. The arms that held him in place fell lax, and he dropped to the ground, his purpose renewed. He believed the story of redemption, of how Horus saved countless lives in the battle for Cadia and how he restored Guilliman to the throne of Ultramar. As for Corax, he was just glad he came out of his shell early and found his purpose once again. With so many allies to vouch for him, Horus was indeed redeemed in the eyes of his brother, and he rejoiced inwardly at this small fortune.

What he didn't like was the revelation of what he sought all this time. "The Tree of Life is a xenos god?!" His reaction was just as violent as his sons when they heard their Chapter-Master reveal it unto them. "All that effort, wasted on a XENOS GOD?!"

"It is not wasted, our father had instructed us to find her that we may bring her to him." Horus explained, "It is the only way we can bring him back from death." Also, it was the only way he could right his wrong, the final wrong.

"My lords, the forces of Chaos stir!" A Luna Wolf warned, "They close upon the Gates!"

Horus turned to his followers and raised his spear, "There is no time to lose! We are fortunate to have arrived directly atop the Blighted Gardens of Nurgle, but that only means their greatest champions will be directly in our path! Rally together, do not let them separate us, for only under the shield of Soulrender will you find equal footing against this scum!" Afterwards he regarded his brother grimly and said, "And you, brother, make your decision quickly. Stand by me, or stand aside..."

Horus' captains led their specialist squads in key positions, with their Primarch directly at the helm to cast a protective bubble of pure psychic energy over his legion. Prometheum flames drenched the enemy as they were roused from their slumber. The young legion of the Luna Wolves were well adjusted to any type of enemy, but there was that one exception when it came to those of the Immaterium. They no longer fought against those of mortal hands, but those of a power that rivals that even of the God Emperor himself!

Grandfather Nurgle purposely allowed the uninvited guests entry from the start, but as they trampled upon his feculent bogs and burned his tenderly cultivated Gnarlmaw trees, it greatly displeased him. And so, with but a wave of his diseased bulk of a hand, he dispatched his most loathsome champions and titans against the Lupercalian Crusade.

Spoilpox Scriveners and Plaguebearers, Glitchlings and Nurglings, spurred onwards by Bilepiper trumpeters, they all came to give the troublesome humans the only equal measure of animosity that befitted the desecration of the Garden's sanctity. Plague Hulks rose up from the slop-filled filth that covered much of the rivers that flowed beneath the boughs of dead trees. Beneath the chassis of the machine supports, a maggot-ridden mass of daemonic flesh, and at the center of which sat a maw capable of vomiting a tide of filth that can rot flesh and corrode metal.

In command of these horrid legions of daemons and daemon-engines was the Chief Gardener Horticulous Slimux, Grand Cultivator of the Dark God Nurgle. He sat upon his molluskoid mount Mulch, with gardening shears in hand to drive the invaders out, barking orders to his blighted brethren and echoed the words of his master.

 _ **"You should never have come here, Horus Lupercal!"**_ He rumbled, _**"The Grandfather had shown much patience for your insolence, even with the annihilation of his favored champions, but he will not suffer this insult! Prepare to die!"**_

"You first." Horus answered grimly, moving forward as his legion cut down and burned a path through the tide of filth and decay. Many a spacemarine met his end through the battle to claim good ground over the Garden, but every death served to harden the Luna Wolves' resolve and so they pressed on. Then, when the Space Wolves arrived to lend a hand, they hammered down harder upon the daemonic legions in spite of their numbers.

Among these heroes stood Bjorn the Fellhanded, a venerated dreadnought and another ancient hero from a bygone era. His iron priests outfitted him with the finest flamers and blessed his engine with the strength of the ages so that he may never tire nor fail in the midst of glorious combat. The lumbering juggernaut of ceramite and plasteel broke formation and attacked the largest of the plague hordes, easily snuffing them out of existence as he cast balefire and prometheum from the twin blasters mounted on his dreadnought's right arm. On the other, a lightning claw was affixed, and with this he carved a swath through the pressing waves, never once stopping even as the bile and blood threatened to clog his gears.

"Burn them all! BURN THEM ALL!" Brother-Captain Galio roared, raising his powersword high and chopping a plaguebearer in half from neck to groin.

Leman Russ, with his armor still rent and torn in many places, took up arms and joined his sons for another go against the forces of Nurgle. He relished the opportunity to reveal his might to the younger Space Wolves, and through this his exhausted body found new strength. As Horus held the deadly atmosphere and corrupting influence of the Garden at bay with his spear and the Rose, Leman defended his brother from the daemons who proved foolhardy enough to try and lay him low.

Horus regarded him with a welcome gaze and nodded, Leman returned it with a firm but acknowledging expression and went back to killing.

Little by little, the Luna Wolves pushed back the overwhelming daemon hordes until Horus came face to face with the Grand Cultivator himself. He walked forward with his spear raised high to further push against the corruption of the Garden's atmosphere, seemingly defenseless to the foolish eye, but Horus was armed with yet another artifact- the Nebula Gauntlet.

He merely had to grasp the air before him, and the artifact of mankind's lost age took hold of Slimux and held him by the throat in mid-air! The Greater Daemon choked and gagged, _**"Wha-what trickery is this?!"**_

Horus smiled and clenched his fist harder, summoning all the power Soulrender could muster and expelled all that lay before the Crusade with one mighty burst of holy light. Afterwards, he quickly shoved the blade through the vulnerable Gardener and withdrew to cast another protective bubble around his men. Slimux fell to rotted earth, his diseased bulk suddenly alight with hellfire, reminding him that his time in all existence has ended. In desperation, his clawed hand latched onto Horus' leg as he moved past. The pain caused him to scream out, and Horus looked down at the suffering daemon with unmatched contempt.

"Reap what you have sown, daemon." Horus said as he pulled away from the dying Cultivator. He turned to his sons and the allies that stood with them, "Forward! We are all so close now!" The Primarch of the Luna Wolves then ordered a tenth of his forces to set up an artillery position that they may bombard the walls of the blighted citadel in which the Dark God Nurgle resided with his captive goddess.

The most powerful of the Rune Priests were set to work, for the gates of Nurgle's crumbling ruin of a mansion stood stronger than any fortress mortal eyes had ever beheld. Their spells worked against the hard, cracked concrete and burned out the festering vines that acted as a preliminary wall. The mansion shook as the shells, powerful enough to shatter islands and tear continents asunder, detonated at pinpoint key locations.

These actions prompted the Garden's guardians, now enraged by the sheer insolence of the armies of mankind, to fight even harder to keep them at bay...alas, it was too late. The Lupercalian Crusade had the momentum, and they would stop at nothing to gain what they've sought.

* * *

The massive, aged doors burst open, and the Wolves entered the blood-soaked threshold. Upon entering that sickening abode, the Luna Wolves and the Space Wolves reeled in abject horror as they beheld the Plague God in all his feculent splendor! Very few got this close to witnessing such depravity, such obscenity, and yet that would never be counted as a triumph in of itself!

Nurgle, the form of a titanic flesh-hulk riddled with decay and pestilence. His gigantic carcass, bloated with corruption and exuding an overpowering stench that gnaws the mind. His skin was greenish, leathery and necrotic, its surface abundant with running sores, swelling boils and fruitful infestation. Nurgle's gurgling and pulsating organs were rank with the excrement of decay, spilling and spurting through his ruptured skin to hang like obscene fruit around his girth. From these organs burst swarms of tiny Nurglings that chew on Grandfather Nurgle's rotting intestines and suck upon his bountiful, noxious juices.

He had no army to back him, for the Dark God never needed one to face the foolish sons of mankind. His Nurglings were but spectators, jeering at the enemy and cheering after the Grandfather of all. He turned from his cauldron, hand still holding firm to the long, rusted stirring rod. His pocked-marked lips parted to reveal row upon row of decaying, yellow teeth, and he smiled upon the invaders.

 _ **"Welcome..."**_ His voice addressed, an eerily slithering, slurping noise that stirred the bowels of all who heard it. He guffawed, _**"You should've sent word you were coming, I would've prepared a feast!"**_

Horus frowned, looking beyond the massive bulk of the Dark God to see the Goddess Isha for the first time. Trapped in that cursed, rusted cage, she gripped the bars and looked back at him. She was beautiful beyond compare, and Horus' heart went out for her plight.

She must be freed.

"I think I understand why the Emperor wants her now." Captain Galio remarked.

"Not another word." Horus warned, drawing his spear to ready himself against the coming battle. Nurgle grinned and grabbed a dipper to fill it with the bubbling broth cooking within his cauldron. With this, he drenched the astartes with a splash of the noxious substances and reveled in the cries of anguish as they dissolved into goop.

Horus snarled, a sound echoed only by the Wolf King as the two Primarchs charged at the Dark God. Nurgle waved his hand and a swarm of daemonflies suddenly assaulted the two assailants, halting them where they stood as they stopped to deal with the thousand, stinging and biting poxbugs. Their transhuman bodies sprouted lesions and pustulating boils that spewed thick, yellow pus as they succumbed to the effects of the plague horde. Horus gasped in agony, but fought and persevered through the trial and burned away the daemonfly swarm with but a thought through Soulrender.

The Rune Priests, the most powerful of the psykers in Leman Russ' retinue, seized this moment to aid their Primarch and wrapped Nurgle's flabby limbs with thick, ethereal chains that held him in place for the vengeful Sons of the Emperor to attack.

"Hurry, my lords!" Njal Stormcaller roared, feeling the very touch of unlife seeping into his mind. "He is powerful indeed! We cannot hold him for long!"

 _ **"You fools, you struggle not against mere acolytes or daemons!"**_ Nurgle roared with laughter, setting cracks upon his shackles as he strained against them. _**"YOU FIGHT A GOD!"**_

Horus struck the first blow he could ever muster against the patron of decay, but the godspear only managed to open an inconsequential wound across Nurgle's already gashed and bloated stomach. In response, the Nurglings within him burst free and attacked the Primarch in swarms, leaving him open for the god to have his due!

 _ **"I AM THE DESTINY OF ALL THINGS, HORUS LUPERCAL! AND I WILL NOT BE DENIED!"**_

"My lord, look out!" Captain Galio cried, barreling forward without a thought to his own safety as he moved to save his gene-sire.

With a loud snap, the ethereal chains shattered, and Nurgle swiped blindly for where he thought Horus would be. Instead, his meaty hands grasped a smaller, lesser Luna Wolf astartes that was Captain Galio. Disappointed, he crushed the man in a punishing grip and tossed his broken corpse aside to feed the slime hounds outside the chamber.

Horus looked on in horror, then rage at the death of one of his First-Captains. "YOU WILL PAY DEARLY FOR THAT!"

As Nurgle welcomed the assault, Leman Russ stood between them and hacked at the extended hands of the Dark God. "No, Horus! Get what we came for!" He reminded his brother of their mission, snapping Horus out of his blind lust for vengeance...

So many astartes died and were dying to this godsforsaken realm, and if they left without Isha it would be all for naught.

* * *

The Emperor watched, feeling his strength waning as the tethers to his spirit and mortal body slowly evaporated.

They were so close, so very close to having what he needed. Isha needed to be saved, for him in turn to be saved, ultimately for mankind to be saved. With that in mind, the Master of Mankind closed his eyes and summoned enough of his reserved power to call upon his faithful to aid his sons in their endeavors. Like moths to the flame, the Legion of the Damned and all the undying saints at his command, surged through the winds of the Warp to perform one mad and desperate attempt to distract the Plague God while Horus wrested his captive away to safety.

The last breaths of his strength were diverted to preserving his consciousness in time for Horus' return to Terra, and with that the protection of the Capital itself and the Astronomican weakened significantly.

This, in turn, invited all manner of tribulation for mankind. But this was a necessary sacrifice, the Emperor only hoped there would be enough of an Imperium left to save when he was done.

* * *

Horus strained against the bars, feeling the rusted hinges protest and groan at his attempt to tear it free.

Bright lights danced behind him, but he paid no heed as he put in every ounce of strength in his body to open the damned cage. Isha stood back, but her eyes were fixed on something else. She witnessed as the Dark God Nurgle, her captor and torturer, suddenly become overwhelmed with thousands upon thousands of beings alight with purifying flames! The haunting legend of the Legion of the Damned was known across the galaxy, and even nonbelievers spoke of such things in hushed tones. These silent warriors were spacemarines in appearance, their black armour adorned with images of bones and fire, believed to be preserved in the Immaterium through the will of the Emperor himself.

The saints battled against the wretched giant, swatted out of existence as he flailed about to rid himself of them.

"Come on! Come on, you son of a bitch!" Horus swore as he pulled with all his might at the stubborn cage door, reeling suddenly as it came apart in his hands. With his heart beating wildly at this accomplishment, Horus took Isha by the hand and led her out of her prison and out through the open doors of Nurgle's mansion. "Leman! Let's go!" He cried as he and the goddess fled on foot to the safety of the encamped gun batteries.

Leman Russ left the Dark God to wrestle with the spirits of the Emperor, content that his quest was done, and raced after his brother.

They will have their chance to destroy the Dark God, today was only a delaying of the inevitable.

"GO! GO! GO!" Horus commanded what was left of his legion to fall back into their transporters, looking back as the mournful cry of the aggrieved Dark God echoed across the blighted forests.

 _ **"ISHA! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!"**_

The very ground stirred once more, for the Dark God's anger was so great that his psychic influence upon his realm shook the very foundations free- if there was ever such a thing in that hellish place. The Lupercalian Crusade withdrew from the Warp as quickly as it could, all eager to leave the filthy, plague-ridden realm of the Fly Lord as soon as possible.

Left alone, with all he had worked for in ruins, the injured and humiliated Dark God Nurgle lifted his tear-stained eyes to the warp tears as the fleet returned to realspace. Seized by a violent anger, Nurgle tossed aside his boiling cauldron and spilled the contents within, promising an eternity of suffering and plague upon mankind. He would visit every affliction imaginable upon the Imperium, unleash every champion and legion at his command to sow ruin and terror upon them.

He would have his beloved Isha back in her cage, one way or another.

 _ **"Mortarion..."**_ The Dark God whispered, _**"Your god calls for you..."**_

* * *

The Lupercalian Crusade stumbled back into Imperial space, their numbers halved after such a punishing ordeal. Many should've taken heart that it was a narrow victory, costly, but a victory nonetheless that they had faced a Dark God of Chaos on his own turf and lived to tell the tale. Alas, the faint pangs of despair were apparent among many minds. That was one of the effects of the Warp, leaving its distant aftertaste upon entering realspace.

Horus, on the other hand, was just grateful that his father was able to intervene in time again for his task to be completed.

He encouraged his crestfallen brethren, especially the Luna Wolves who have lost more than the other chapters combined, by reminding them of their purpose and that those deaths were never in vain.

They had the goddess among them now. And to top it all off, she was not the kind to sit still as a passenger. Instead, Isha roamed from ship to ship, bestowing her healing touch to those in need. After that ordeal with the Plague God, many ships were put on quarantine as a myriad of epidemics suddenly flared among the vessels at Horus' command. One most notable act of kindness she had done in her time as a free goddess was what she did for Bjorn the Fellhanded.

The Space Wolves never fully embraced the task set before them upon hearing the revelation of its true nature, and they at first hated sacrificing needless lives for a xeno goddess. But right until they saw her, meek and innocent like a child, even the hearts of stone cracked and those of ice melted. She laid her hands upon the dreadnought, heavily damaged from all the fighting it saw through the Siege of the Plaguelands, and restored vitality to the paralyzed form resting within the machine's shell.

Many heroes were lost, some of them unknown and unnamed. But while she could help it, Isha could bring back many to serve once more.

"Could you restore one from the dead?" Horus asked her on the day they reached Holy Terra. Many solar days were spent on grieving and seeing to the funeral rites of the fallen, many more for healing and restoration, the final days spent on traveling through the safest and most secure routes back to the Capital. The Emperor's beacon was dimming in the horizon, and this only spurred the Crusade forward even harder, for they knew what was at stake. "Could you bring back my father?"

Isha looked upon her savior, of whose hand was guided by the one who gave her hope. By her hand she had healed him from his own afflictions sustained from his battle with the Plague God, and he looked as radiant as any youthful man. "I can try. It is the least I can do after all you have done for me."

"You'd better." Leman Russ snorted as he walked past the two on his way up to the bridge, "I wasted ten thousand years looking for a way to right my brother's wrongs, make it worth that time."

"Forgive him." Horus baded the goddess, "He is a Fenrisian to the bone, he will never fully agree with anyone's plan save for his own."

Isha gazed down at the planet below the _Divine Fury_ , watching the lights dance upon its cities where the peoples of the earth roamed to and fro, feeling the life emanating from within. But there was one life down there she felt so keenly, and so wished to save. "Take me to him, that I may rest all your doubts of me."

Horus nodded, summoning his men to escort the goddess down to Holy Terra.

As the Thunderhawk broke through the gray skies, the very presence of the Goddess of Life and Fertility restored the broken atmosphere to the days of its infancy. The changes in the world of man were noticeable, even more so when the transporter touched down and Isha set foot upon the grounds of the Imperial Palace. Where once stood artificial plants or towering statues of bronze and gold, vibrant plants and beautiful flora sprouted out of the once-dead ground to wrap their embrace wherever the goddess went.

The people, so absorbed in their daily lives, took pause to admire and gaze in awe at the spectacle.

Horus Lupercal, and his awesome Luna Wolves bodyguards, brought with them a towering woman of unparalleled beauty. She stood at an impossible height of ten feet, on par with the Primarch himself. Her skin was glossy like polished bronze, and pink with the same vibrancy that sprouted flowers wherever her feet touched the ground. She was dressed in transparent silks that accentuated her form, though not at all leaving little to the imagination. And her hair, so inhumanly golden like a field of ripened grain.

Mortal minds could think alike. They knew she was a goddess.

Isha looked at the gathering crowds and smiled sweetly at all who gazed upon her. Those that cast their eyes on her were immediately blessed with vitality. Old men who once bent on their walking canes, stood tall like men in their prime. Gnarled veterans, whose life had left them when the wars chipped away at their humanity, saw again what they had long missed.

Hope. Long overdue, and it was here!

The crowd cheered, a noisy and wordless cheer. For they knew not what to call the goddess that walked their streets.

Horus hurried them along, for he was not here to parade her around the Imperial city, not yet at least. "Come, let us finish this task first." Isha meekly agreed and allowed herself to be swept up to the gates of the Imperial Palace. There, the acolytes and servitors pushed open the many doors leading into the Throne Room, where the Emperor sat interred for the last ten thousand years. Noticeably, the walls and floors were restored after the defense of the city against the daemonic incursions, and the gilded skeleton that sat immobile stayed the same.

Isha looked at Horus, then at the glorified corpse. Her expression was one of sadness and tender compassion, "Is that him?"

"Yes." Horus said.

A moment of silence reigned, then Isha boldly strode forward. Her footsteps were faint, like the droplets of rain on a gentle shower in the summer afternoon. Horus watched as she gained the height of the stairs leading to the Throne, and he held his breath as Isha stood so close to the corpse therein.

Slowly but surely, she took hold of the skull and bent down to kiss the hallowed bones.

Horus waited with baited breath, watched with eager anticipation of the culmination of his efforts. The Adeptus Custodes who had led them in whispered amongst themselves, wondering at what was to come.

To mortal eyes, they would never have noticed it first, but Horus saw it. The flesh crept up across the ancient bones, sinews and musculature formed over sutures and foramens sported nerves and blood vessels! Then, as the precursor of a human face formed, the skin stretched out from thin air and spread out evenly across the head and all over the body therein. Horus gaped, amazed at the power of life making itself manifest before him!

Hair sprouted from roots and flowed over the scalp, eyelids stretched over open sockets, only to lift to reveal the kindest eyes of puppy brown.

He knew those eyes!

"Father!" Horus cried.

"Emperor!" The Adeptus Custodes joined in.

The Emperor wasn't listening, for in that moment of resurrection he only cared of one thing- the beautiful face that stared down at him with love. His hands, held in place by wires plugged into the Throne, made a lot of noise as they moved up to caress the goddess' smooth cheek. He pulled her down again to steal another kiss.

The remembrancer, seizing this opportunity, raced forward and scribbled on a parchment of paper the scene before him.

Satisfied, the Master of Mankind rose up from his Throne and cast a bright glow over the ancient machine. He would have it wait for its use, having been restored the full power of his psychic might from his resurrection, for now he had a whole empire to address. He held the goddess' hand gently in his own and led her back down the stairs to speak to his son.

"Well done, my boy." He said, putting a hand upon Horus' shoulder. "I am so proud of you."

Horus beamed, at a loss for words.

"Come, let us give them the good news." The Emperor beckoned, and the Gods of the Imperium walked up to the balcony tot he jubilant adoration of the crowds below.

The Emperor had returned.

 **}!{**

 **Can't make it any better than that. This shall be the end for now.**

 **Thank you so much for helping me get this far, dearest readers. Don't worry, after the break I will carry on where we left off. Horus' journey for redemption is over, but the Emperor's job has just begun.**

 **Till then.**


End file.
